


What is Love? (no, really, what is it?)

by TheOneAndOnly1993



Series: Love in Kamihama [3]
Category: Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Chapter 4 is the one with violence but it's canon-compliant, Codependency, Complicated Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, Established Relationship, F/F, Horny Teenagers, Implied Relationships, Love, Questionably healthy relationships, implied self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneAndOnly1993/pseuds/TheOneAndOnly1993
Summary: A slip of the tongue incites Masara to analyze her relationship, and feelings, for Kokoro. She seeks Kamihama’s local couples for wisdom… to varying effects.





	1. Rika loves Ren a little too much but to Ren it's not enough - it's because of this she's okay with PDA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I am uncertain what it means to love someone. What about me is special to Kokoro? What about her is special to me above all others?' 
> 
> 'These two girls have evident affection for each other. I feel nothing for Kokoro that way, and yet they stressed that their love isn't the same as everyone else's.' 
> 
> 'This will be hard.'

**A/N:** Though is isn't necessary, you might appreciate Rika and Ren's interactions and references more if you've read my [previous story](https://www.reddit.com/r/magiarecord/comments/dfre0y/story_the_four_times_i_believed_you_loved_me_ren/) about them.

************

Kokoro leapt away, the wind propelled by Suzune’s slash biting deep into her thin bodysuit. “Wh-what are you—?!”

_‘Kokoro-chan, attack and run! RUN!’_ The broken cry rattled her teeth, jolted her heart.

So sudden and harsh it was that Kokoro stumbled back from the approaching swordswoman, second guessing the speaker as the night sky dragged like molasses into view. _Th-that voice, was it really—?_

The ground smacked upon her rear, knocking what little breath she had in a ragged gasp.

A flash of amber cleaved through the night above. “Awane Kokoro-san,” spoke the magical girl trying to murder her, “I’m sorry.”

_Why?!_ Kokoro scrambled back, lifting an arm—_”AGH-HAH!”_ Agony cleaved through her forearm entirely. Kokoro fought to breathe, gasping as she registered the fabric of her body suit and flesh beneath had been slitted, spewing warm crimson upon her thighs.

“Rest in peace,” she heard, accompanied by a metallic whistle overhead. This was the end.

_I’m sorry Masara._ She was going to be alone, hurting, all because Kokoro had failed to collect her stupid self from this Suzune’s sudden betrayal.

But there was a grunt. Then a damp, gagged choke.

A crimson-stained spearhead protruded from the assailant’s bared torso. _No. Not a spearhead,_ realized Kokoro a heartbeat later—too slender a blade, too distinctly azure, and her brain recognized the stars manifesting behind Suzune before her eyes believed it.

Masara Kagami reappeared with an arm latched around her throat. Her eyes glared with an intense, almost satanic hatred that chilled Kokoro to her core.

Suzune gasped wetly, blood spilling and painting her chin as Masara yanked her dagger out. The ivory wrappings around her forearms became mottled red as Masara swiftly gathered Suzune’s pendant, hosting her soul gem, and pressed it against her throat with the tips of her fingers. A crimson-spurting gag suggested how hard she pressed.

“Rot forever,” Masara uttered, before Kokoro’s peripherals caught a silvery flash, and Suzune’s face wrenched into gaping shock.

Kokoro squeezed her eyes shut.

And kept them closed as softly-padding feet approached, endearing in their hurriedness past the suffocating thickness clogging Kokoro’s breast. Gentle hands grabbed her by the biceps, hoisted her to her feet with nary a grunt before turning her body around, away from the carnage.

“Are you okay?” asked Masara, still holding her arms.

Kokoro opened her eyes; her best and only real friend’s brows were knitted in worry. _Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you, I would’ve died if not for you._ Kokoro’s throat was too tight to utter a word of it. A swallow, a frantic nod, was all she could manage. Why though? She was fine. She had nothing to worry about, so why did she feel like crying?

“How’s your wrist?”

It ached sharply all of a sudden. Kokoro winced, clutching it tight. The coppery smell reeked—_and it wasn’t just her own._ “Th-that magical girl… She saved me and then she tried to… _to…_” It was so horrible, so confusing. And the way Suzune died despite that… _It feels so much worse since I know her name._ “Sh-she must’ve ha-ad a reason, r-right?!” wondered Kokoro, her eyes burning. “I… I must have offended her, o-or… or maybe she wanted the grief se-_h’eed!_” To have one’s throat slit like that, stabbed through the back. “Oh, God, why’d this happen?! My first night alone and you had to come save me anyway!” _Maybe Suzune sensed my weakness. Saw how sloppily I fought that witch. That’s… that’s understandable._

“Kokoro-chan, she was trying to kill you.” Masara folded her blood-speckled arms. Her face suggested it was spoken with sympathy. “Even so, it must have been disturbing to witness what resembled a murder in turn.”

Kokoro nodded, the thought hollowing her. “Th-thank you, Masa-chan. If you hadn’t come…” And a thought struck her. “How did you know I was in danger, anyway?”

Masara’s arms dropped. “Um.”

Kokoro, despite the rush of fear still glowing strong and the burn in her forearm, managed a smile as she realized, “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

It took Masara five endearing seconds to reply, gazing aside, “Sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m… glad. That I didn’t though.”

Kokoro’s heart fluttered; she was never in danger. Not so long as Masara had her—the one thing she seemed to care about in her otherwise empty, transient life.

_To be depended on, needed so badly…_ Kokoro forgot Masara’s reservations as she threw her arms around the pale girl. “Thank you,” she gasped, and the alleyways suffocating walls blurred. “Thank you so much, Masa-chan!”

_And I’m sorry for being so useless._ But she knew what Masara’s answer to that would be.

A tightness around her torso shocked Kokoro for but a moment—never had the girl hugged her back before. Masara said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her actions spoke loud enough, and they screamed of a care powerful enough to act upon it—more so than when they first met, when Masara didn’t even care for her own life enough to try preserving it.

_I’m helping you,_ Kokoro realized. _I’m giving you something to look forward to and fight for. Oh, oh Masa-chan—_“I love you, Masa-chan,” sobbed Kokoro. “Thank you so much!” _For being here. For saving me in more ways than one: for being my friend and caring about me more deeply than my parents do._

She didn’t expect Masara to reply to that, either, and that was fine. But when she did, the fact that she did so was not the shocking part. Or even what she’d asked then:

“Wh-what do you mean by that?”

It was the fact that she stammered. _Could it be—?_

No.

No way.

Kokoro was just getting ahead of herself. Being hopeful. She startled Masara with that confession, nothing more. To her it was outrageous, illogical, after all.

“S-sorry,” she laughed into her shoulder, “I’m still recovering from the attack.”

“I see.”

Good. She didn’t want to frighten Masara away, who’d possessed such a mediocre opinion of herself she almost ended their friendship in its early days. If Kokoro merely wishing to spend time with her was so confounding, then a feeling strong as love would surely drive her away once again. Perhaps even permanently.

Kokoro would continue enjoying their bond as it was. No need to risk ruining it.

************************************

“And that’s what happened,” Masara concluded. “So my question is: what, exactly, is love?”

“An old American song, that’s what.” Masara gazed ahead as Rika Ayano’s chair squealed away. She stood tall, this girl Mitama had promised was “perfect for this sort of question.” All eyes in the cafe were upon her.

She brought a fist to her strawberry-glossed lips. _“‘Baby don’t huht me!~’”_ she sang in English. _“Don’t huht me!~ No mo’!~’”_ And she plopped back down, smiling with a light blush dusting her cheeks.

The hoodied girl, silent still, stole a sip of cocoa from her and Rika’s mug. “R-Rika-chan,” she whispered, setting it down, “don’t tease Masara-san. It’s mean.” Her uncovered eye gazed out the window.

Rika gasped, clasping her heart. Masara almost believed she was truly offended, but she was smiling as she said, “I am _so_ not teasing!”

Ren turned suddenly, grabbing the lacy sleeve of her startled girlfriend. “She’s being serious.” Her fist tightened as her brow knitted. “And so am I.”

Rika’s smile returned, albeit genuine as reflected in her sincerity: “Of course she is, Ren-chan! I know, I know! It’s just, she’s asking a silly question is all. Ergo, a silly answer… There’s a method to my madness, you know that!” Ren just mirrored Masara’s resting face. “C’mon!” whined Rika, nudging their shoulders together. “I was tryna make you laugh, okay? You were so darn serious on our way over here,” she mocked deeply, squaring her shoulders.

A grin broke out on Ren’s face, to which she tried to cover immediately, to smother her giggles.

“Hey-hey, I did it! Ya laughed!”

“N-no that your joke, sorry,” she giggled.

“Oh! Ow! You wound me, Ren-chan!”

Ren dropped her hands, clasping them in her lap, it seemed. “But you’re just so sweet, and caring, that it…” Crimson covered everything left exposed by her hair. “It tickles me.”

Rika squealed at a pitch that would drive dogs crazy. She yanked Ren into a hug, peppering her glowing cheek with kisses. “You are so! Freaking! _Cute,_ I can’t stand it!” gushed Rika, punctuating each word with a peck.

“R-Rika-chan! Not in public…” Ren squeezed her unshrouded eye shut, lips twisting in a melty smile.

Rika’s lips split into a grin against her cheek. “And whose fault is it for getting me all worked up?” she breathed, attacking Ren’s jawline. In turn, the shy girl turned completely towards Rika, clasping the fabric of her hoodie which she yanked to cover her profile and Rika’s approaching face.

A girlish moan emitted. “You’re so loud,” giggled Ren’s wispy voice.

_I believe they forgot about me._ Masara sighed internally, taking a sip of chai tea. “So.” Her cup tinked upon its plate. “Is this the love I’m seeing?”

The couple stiffened and fell away, red and wild-eyed. Both fixed their hair, avoiding Masara’s eyes when all she displayed was a cocked brow. Rika glanced over twice before turning to her fully. She opened her mouth, somehow turned even more red, and elbowed Ren suddenly enough to jolt her upright.

“Ren-chan,” she whispered, “c’mon. Tell her.” To her puzzled gawking, Rika added. “I’m… I’m embarrassed. Say it. Explain it, or something. Please.”

“Wha’?” hissed Ren. “Do you _know me?_”

Rika fanned herself. “Ooh! I will _never_ get used to Assertive Ren!”

“I-I’m not that assertive.”

“Which is exactly why you fluster me so, Ren-chan. It’s so sudden and uncommon that it makes my heart all tingly when it crops up!” Rika sighed dreamily, cupping her cheek. “After all, who wrote the epic love letter which confessed her feelings nine times total?”

Ren yanked back her hood, the motion flashing a winkle through her ruffled bangs. “You remember that exact number?”

Rika grinned, biting her pinky. “I… might sorta kinda read it every once in a while, so…”

Ren clasped her chest. “You even kept it?” she cried.

She blushed happily as Rika gave a pat. “Of course I did.” The pale girl turned her smile across the table. “All of that, Masara-san, is love.”

“Head patting?” she wondered.

“Huh? No! All of that, what we’ve been doing!”

They were just doing what any couple would do, it seemed. Masara looked to Ren, noted they shared soft eyes and gentler smiles. Silky hair, too. But they were just too different on the inside. “I don’t think I can do all of that,” she confessed. “For one, I cannot tell if the person I’m talking about does these things from a place of general care, romantic love, or simply out of a need for my companionship.” For some reason. “You see, it’s hard to glean because I don’t really care about what people think of me.”

“Wow, really?” Ren breathed with admiration.

“I never do,” she said. “I see you and feel nothing. In the midst of a fight, nothing. I’ve had boys confess their feelings to me, and all I could offer was apologies and to tell them their words stir nothing inside of me. I don’t care about what other people think. I never do.”

Not until Kokoro came into her life, and everything she did undoubtedly did _something_ to Masara.

Rika’s expression, stunned throughout, turned dark by her conclusion. “If you don’t care at all, then why’d you have Mitama-san drag us out here? Better yet, why’re you jerking your friend around and toying with his feelings?”

“Rika-chan—”

The forcefulness of her tone repelled Ren’s consoling hand. “If you don’t care, then don’t act like you do. Don’t question it as if you care. That’s scummy. He deserves better than that, don’t you think? Or do you not care about people, neither?!”

Masara’s lips parted. Nothing came forth. How could it? How could she? This Ayano girl just attacked her, cut her so deep and so accurately she—for the first time—felt something other than Kokoro’s squirmy, tickling inflictions that confused her so.

This must have been how Suzune Amano felt when she’d stabbed her through the gut.

Masara wondered if she had been hurting Kokoro all this time. _And she says she loved me? This girl from an emotionally neglectful home…_ “You might be right,” she told her steaming beverage. “Even when it’s not my intention, my apparent apathy is a constant disappointment to Kokoro-chan.” It had to be.

“Wait-wait-wait.” Rika exchanged a look with her girlfriend. “Do you mean… Awane Kokoro-san?” Masara nodded, curious when the girl clasped her hands together. “Oh, I know her! She helped me finish my research paper the night before it was due! ...Huh, so another girl like us. Two, actually.”

Her smile was lost on Masara, as a vague heaviness had taken root within her. A notion about this peppy girl from Chuo she decidedly… misliked. “People have a tendency of taking advantage of that kindness. Her family, for one.” And perhaps Masara for another. “She probably helped you because she can’t bring herself to say no.”

Rika paled, making her whiter than a ghost. “W-wait, are you serious?”

Masara crossed her arms. “I thought you knew her.”

Ren held a hand up in front of Rika. “Ma-Masara-san, I think you should stop!” she said quickly. “You… you’re sharing something personal, I think, that Kokoro-san probably hadn’t told most people.”

That made no sense. Kokoro cried about her struggles the first time they met, and that was the least perplexing part of this whole picture. “If she didn’t want people to know, then why tell me—a stranger at the time?” So confusing. The only thing Masara had gathered so far was love was complicated. It frustrated her, unnerved her, more than anything Kokoro had done in the early days of their friendship. “I truly wish to know, ‘why me?’”

“I’m sensing alotta layers to that question.”

Masara nodded. “It circles back to my first. I want to know why Kokoro-chan chooses to spend her time with something like me. Why she tells me these… these absurd things.”

“M-Masara-san—”

“What is love? Do you know at all, or should I stop wasting my time and find someone who does?” The speed at which she spoke shook even Masara to her core, not to mention the girls across the table.

“And…” Rika licked her lips before they curled into a smile. “And that’s why I was teasing you earlier,” she said. “‘Cause there’s no definite answer. It depends on the couple, and the individual peeps that make it.” She propped her and Ren’s entwined hands upon the table. “Take our l-l-luh’… Our _love_, for example. It took a while, but Ren-chan and I like going to each other when we have problems. Or when we’re bored, or, heck, usually we just wanna be together!”

_Clearly,_ thought Masara. And yet, all these were things Kokoro had shared with Masara. Simultaneously when on a hiking trip—it simply wasn’t one without Kokoro sharing something personal with Masara.

Which she appreciated.

“Rika-chan compliments me a lot,” Ren added. “She makes me feel strong, and… and, um, and p-pretty.”

“Ren-chan dotes me so much I feel like a lady in waiting!”

Kokoro often made them bentos. She usually capped off a fight complimenting Masara’s battle prowess.

All of this only served to confound Masara. _Why me, though? And is it romantic love or platonic?_ It could very well be either—and all of that didn’t clarify Masara’s own stirring heart.

She sighed, crossing her arms—_no…_ hugging herself. It didn’t help stem this… this tightness which consumed her last night, seeing that girl trying to kill Kokoro, and always had when her friend cried out in pain. Or just cried in general.

“Kokoro-chan compliments me, too,” she confessed. “But not like that, in a way targeted towards my appearance. And she definitely cares about me. A long time ago, she commanded me to protect myself in battle. She’d be upset if I don’t, so, I do.”

“Aww,” Rika cooed, cupping her cheeks.

Ren gave a sad frown. “You seem bothered by this.”

“Do I?” Masara truly couldn’t tell. Then again, she hardly understood anything Kokoro made her feel, ever.

“Or, rather—sorry—I meant to say, is there something Kokoro had done which made you feel uncomfortable? Like in a way you hated and never wanted to feel again.”

Masara shrugged sadly. She didn’t know—she treated pain as she did all unpleasant things, that they happen and they will pass. That’s not to say the sentiments Kokoro inflicted were in the same league as physical agony… but they were different enough to… to frighten Masara on a whole other level.

“Do you even want Awane-san to love you, romantically?” asked Rika. In a deep voice she mocked, “Or do you not care?”

Masara did, though. It’s why she bothered even asking Mitama this morning. But love remained an enigma; she wasn’t opposed to the idea posed by Rika’s question, but she certainly didn’t want to barrel ahead with these mysterious feelings and end up hurting Kokoro.

“For now, I’d like to know if I’m misreading this altogether,” said Masara.

Rika sneered. “I see, I see. Now I’m beginning to see why Mitama asked for us, indeed I do.” She took a long, noisy sip of her and Ren’s cocoa. The shyer girl took a peek inside as it was set down.

“You drank it all.”

“It’s love, I’m calling it now!” Rika cried.

“I didn’t even get a second sip. And, Rika-chan, don’t jump to conclusions like that! It could damage the relationship they have now.” Masara nodded in agreement. To her words, guilt overshadowed Rika’s excitement as she turned to Ren. “I know that’d make you feel awful if it turned out that way. And I know you… you like the idea of a romance between the same sexes.”

“B-but that’s not the only reason! _I mean,_ it’s not the reason at all! Just… look at the context, Ren-chan.” Rika’s hand flung across the table. “Awane-san’s confession, the close brush with death, the motions in the heat of the moment! ...Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Ren smiled, placing her hand atop Rika’s. “It does, and if you’re right about this it would be a beautiful coincidence. But we must implore caution to Masara-san. Everything we know is easily applicable to good friends. Especially a near-death experience. I mean, that’s how I’d write off our fight against that eyeball witch.”

“You did, huh?” Rika rubbed her chin, turning her smirk on Masara. “Sounds to me like Masara-san and my Ren-chan are just as similar inside as outside.”

To that, Masara sincerely replied, “Don’t be presumptuous about my perceived presumptuousness. I haven’t made any assumptions about Kokoro-chans actions. I merely wish to understand them first.”

“Well, you’re definitely too chicken to outright ask her.”

“I am not.” Though Masara wasn’t entirely sure if she could ask.

Rika waved off, seeing through her apparently. “Besides, Awane-san sounds as flusterable as Ren-chan. Therefore! I’ve concluded that in order to gauge her feelings, you gotta probe her.”

“As in question? Didn’t you just advise to avoid that?”

“I said to probe her, not stab her. From what I can tell, she’s skittish and will definitely lock up if you bluntly ask about her feelings.”

“How do you know?” Masara genuinely wondered.

“Because most girls are embarrassed by their own feelings!”

As one, Ren and Masara went “Oof.”

Rika stood, surprising Ren in doing so while grasping her hand. “C’mon. Let’s find a rooftop. I’mma teach you how to spot if a girl is crushing on you.”

****************************

The air was nippy, but Rika ensured this rooftop so high above Kamihama was one nobody could see, even from a neighboring building. After transforming in an alley, scaling and landing atop the skyscraper, Masara heard Rika—because it certainly wouldn’t be Ren—squealing beside her.

“Oh my _gosh,_ Masara-san, your outfit is _so_ cute! I love your cleavage by the way!”

“...”

“...”

“...Thanks.”

Ren looked as appalled as Masara almost felt—a face she wore as Rika smiled obliviously to her girlfriend. “What’s with the face?” Ren’s shock lessened to a one-eyed glare. “C’mon, you know I don’t care for big boobs!” The fierceness of this girl’s glower hit Masara when it snapped in her direction.

“Hey, now,” purred Rika, her short skirt sashaying with her step. “You’re my sexy little sweetie, Ren-chan. Sorry for saying that.” She turned Ren’s face towards her’s. “I was tryna get a reaction out’ve our friend here.”

Ren flinched back, face wrenched with guilt. “I-I’m s-s-sorry I can’t trust you, th-that I keep getting jeal—_mmph!_” Red exploded across Ren’s face, and Masara wondered if she was going to be forgotten again.

And felt she shouldn’t be seeing this when the shy girl deepened the kiss, pushing back against Rika whose hands grasped Ren’s shoulders.

“This’ll be dirty,” gasped Rika between kisses. “I’m sorry, Ren-chan. Just trust me, and…” her lips moved to Ren’s cheeks, “...please,” her ear, “play,” her jawline, “ah-long.” Pecking her neck incited a gasp, and Ren’s bosom to thrust outward. “Sorry in advance!”

And in one swift motion, Ren’s white overcoat—the bow tying it undone by Rika’s sneaky hands—tore down her arms and fell a crumpled heap upon the ground, all before its crimson-faced owner could feebly cover her body clad in naught but a single stocking and a little black nightgown.

“R-R-R-R-_Rika-CHAAAN!_ Y-You, y-y-you m-m-made m-m-me _NAKED!_”

“Only a little!” She could barely suppress her silly, reddening smile as Ren tried in vain to yank her skirt further down her thighs. “Quit worrying! I won’t go further than this, I promise. Besides, take a look at Masara-san—she doesn’t care! Remember?”

Ren, half-crouched with her dress stretched to her knees, flinched over to Masara. “Don’t look at me, please.”

Rika laid a hand upon her head. “And here’s part of why I wanna do this.” Ren’s eyes drifted up, her unease lessening, though not her ruddy glow.

“Fine,” said Masara. “Proceed, please.”

“Hee. Awesome sauce. Now...” Rika raked her wild mane of hair as if shampooing it, shook it out, and stunned Ren into a straightened position and forgetting about her dress entirely: even free of its hair ties, Rika Ayano looked like she just rolled out of bed.

That’s how it looked to Masara anyway.

Surely to Ren it was stunning. For some reason.

“Ah,” sighed Rika, a glaze falling over her eyes. She began to stroll around Ren, eyeing her like a piece of meat. A hand clasped her shoulder as Ren tried turning to follow Rika, as though under a spell. “Hmm, hmm, so that’s what you’re hiding under there.”

Ren’s eyes gaped, and all the color drained from her face, then returned twice as strong. “Our first time we—?!” Her one eye flitted from Masara back to Rika. “N-no! No way, th-this is too embarrassing!” She went back to trying to yank her dress below her knees.

“Why are you embarrassed about that?” asked Masara. “Your legs were just as bare as when you had the coat on. And as established, I really don’t care. Not about your body, nor Kokoro’s.” As Rika had so weirdly inquired on their way here.

“See? She doesn’t give a toot about us! She’s here to learn, not judge!”

_These girls are fairly strange,_ judged Masara. _But… they clearly have a special, close bond._ Compared to her and Kokoro’s, it was like fire and ice.

“Isuzu-san.” Ren and Masara locked eyes. “I… I want to know how Kokoro feels about me. Desperately. Whatever Ayano-san has planned, I don’t care beyond the answers it will give me. Whatever those may be.”

“Ren-chan, she’s begging,” Rika said sympathetically. “Let’s do it for love, okay? Let’s just…” She took Ren’s hands, which at that point have been limply grasping her nightgown’s fringe. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves and relive a nice memory, yeah?”

Ren held her gaze, gently pouting. Then she inhaled deep, and exhaled out her mouth. “Okay,” she breathed, her loving eyes opening upon Rika’s. “Just so long as we don’t go too far.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Ren-chan. Now… get in character while I start from the beginning! And don’t tell me you need a minute to remember the lines—I remember every detail of this night, and I know you do too!”

“R-right. Right, right.” Ren inhaled and exhaled once more as Rika sauntered over.

This time, she’d stopped with a hand above her breast instead of circling her girlfriend like a fresh kill. “H-hah, so that’s what you’re hiding under there.”

Ren’s face crumpled, and she hugged her torso, looking away. The blush was definitely real. “I’m sorry,” she uttered.

Rika stepped back, eyes wide. “What? Why’re you sorry, Ren-chan?”

“It’s…” Ren glanced over at Masara, then squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s... s-slutty.”

A soft, genuine gasp. Rika’s eyes glistened. “Such an ugly word coming from a cute little mouth.” Ren flinched away, gripping the hem of her gown. “Be honest with me, Ren-chan, please… a-are you ashamed of your femininity?”

She shook her head, eyes wrenched shut. Masara caught glittering specks flying from her lashes. “I ha-ave none,” croaked Ren. “I’m… I… _I look like a little girl!_”

Rika huffed—Masara could tell it was forced because of the pain on her face. “Not with those legs, you don’t,” she said hoarsely. Gazing upon them, Rika’s eyes widened suddenly and she knelt down, grabbing Ren’s discarded coat behind her. As she rose, Rika grabbed and planted kisses up her left arm, shoulder, collarbone and cheek until finally reaching her lips, where they lingered in a shared, tearful bliss for several heartbeats.

Parting enough just for a sliver of blue sky to bloom between them, Rika breathed, “You’re absolutely beautiful. I love everything about you, I mean that. You… you’re...” She bit her lip, enunciating with squeezed eyes and a flushing face, “Your figure… is driving. Me. Crazy. It’s actually taking all my willpower not to just tackle you right now, cuz I want you to hear this first, and believe it.”

Ren’s welled, uncovered eye opened, the disturbance inciting the buildup to trickle down her cheek. “Rika-chan…”

She held the coat up. “Is that what this is for? Hiding your beauty?”

Ren gazed aside. “I guess so. I-I didn’t choose it.”

“But your brain did. Which means that deep down, you wanna be sexy.” Ren flinched, her eye widening. “Well guess what?” Rika chuckled. “As far as your girlfriend’s concerned, mission accompl—_emf!_” She stumbled back, moaning happily into Ren’s mouth as she arms lassoed around the girl’s slender waist.

They parted with a pop, gazing into one another’s half-lidded eyes. “Rika-chan,” Ren breathed.

“Yeah?” came the reply at equal volume.

“We have an audience, don’t forget.”

“I hadn’t.”

“Then stop grabbing my butt.”

“Make me,” snickered Rika, inciting a happy squeal from Ren as she wrapped her arms around her again, squeezing her into another hard kiss. The shyer girl simply leaned into it, gentle pale fingers combing through Rika’s strawberry-blonde mop.

Clearly they weren’t going to stop on their own. Masara voiced her thoughts aloud: “I don’t see how any of that will help me.”

Rika groaned, moreso out of having their “alone time” interrupted than the question. “Try complimenting Awane-san. Get flirty with her! Watch her reaction instead of telling yourself how little you care for once! It’s as simple as that.”

It sounded like anything but. Especially when Masara couldn’t put her heart into something she barely understood unlike Rika, or possess an opportunity to offer Kokoro consolation and confidence like with Ren, given her bountiful figure.

But she had no choice but to try, or let these feelings bother her forever.

***************

The labyrinth dissipated, taking with it the mirage of wobbly, stories-tall brick walls in exchange for those of head-height, which only impeded access to the neighborhoods’ backyards as opposed to a wretched monster.

Kokoro’s tonfas left her forearms in a veil of sparks, freeing them to wipe across her forehead. “Hoo!” she sighed. “Great fighting, Masa-chan. That was easy!”

“Indeed. You did good as well.” Masara felt her smile drop: she’d just complimented Kokoro. _This must be it,_ she realized, after days of putting it off. _This is an opportunity._

Kokoro was oblivious to Masara’s inner turmoil as she stretched her arms. “Well, I’d say we’ve hunted enough for today. Why don’t we go to my place and I can cook us up some dinner?”

“Wait.”

Kokoro blinked, surely noting the slight forcefulness in Masara’s tone. “Oh. D-do you not want to, Masa-chan?”

No, she did! Or, she does, but she doesn’t want to abuse Kokoro’s kindness again. Except—no! That’s not what Masara wanted to say!

Too much. There were too many variables. She just had to go for it, like her senpais in the uncharted territory of love.

“Kokoro-chan,” she began.

“Yes?”

Masara realized there was too much space between them. She took a step closer. Kokoro’s green eyes widened in reaction. “Um.” What was she supposed to do here?

“Masa-chan?”

_Stop thinking already. Just make observations like always. That would perplex her less._ “Your skin is fair,” said Masara. “It glows like fresh-fallen snow.”

“Oh, thanks! Yeah, I used this new body wash, you know? It’s almond-scented.”

No reaction. She just took it as a compliment, of course. “Has anyone commented on your beauty before? It’s very natural.”

Kokoro snorted. “What’s gotten into you? I mean, thanks, don’t get me wrong! But, like, this hairstyle definitely isn’t! Y’know?” She pointed to her hair loops, red dusting her cheeks.

A blush was promising. But Masara could very well just be making her uncomfortable. _I need to make this romantic._ In essence, just copy Rika Ayano. Masara glanced down and took notice of a feature of Kokoro’s magical girl uniform, specifically her top: a zipper traveled down the middle.

A chuckle brought her gaze to Kokoro’s—she was grinning, flushing as she asked, “My eyes are up here, Masa-chan. Kidding! I’m kidding.”

Masara swallowed. In this moment, she cursed Rika Ayano, herself, and Kokoro for inflicting this absurdity upon her otherwise unremarkable life.

In a voice she made raspy, Masara replied, “But I’m not.”

“Wha’huh?”

Masara was too humiliated to say anything as her fingers dover beneath Kokoro’s ascot, finding the zipper, and yanked it down. Now parted in two, the article presented to her the broad but otherwise run-of-the-mill facets so unremarkably common among human females, straining the fabric of her black bodysuit. What the opposite sex saw in these was more an enigma than Kokoro’s proclamation of love.

Remembering that, Masara’s flurry of feelings froze cold. _She could very well redact that sentiment after what I’d just done._

“M-Masa-chan,” moaned into her thoughts. Kokoro was flushing, her eyes half-lidded. “What’s gotten into you?”

She truly didn’t know. _A pair of perpetually aroused teenagers told me to do this, so I am._

“You,” she confessed.

Kokoro’s eyes shot open.

And she breathed, “Keep going.”

That… was unexpected. Masara swallowed; she didn’t think they would get this far, it seemed outside the realm of possibility. But Kokoro was asking her to do it, she wasn’t objecting, in fact, it seemed she really meant it romantically when she confessed to Masara.

Summoning her dagger, Masara grazed the fabric stretched across Kokoro’s breasts. Zero resistance; it was like cutting through air, and a slit exposing her cleavage sprung open.

“Masa-chan, wait.” A gloved hand grabbed her dagger-wielding wrist before she could slice the fabric to Kokoro’s navel. “I… let’s go to my place first. Okay?”

And that’s when it hit her.

“Masa-chan?”

Her hand sprung open; her weapon sang as it hit the concrete.

“Hey, hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! What’s wrong?”

She was awful.

“Masa-chan?”

She was horrible.

“Masa-chan!”

She was just doing to Kokoro what her family had done and used her pliable kindness to her advantage: she wasn’t doing this because she felt any sort of lust for her friend, only to sate some twisted curiosity on her own end.

Masara was just playing with Kokoro’s feelings when she herself didn’t return them.

Why? Why did she feel this for something like Masara?

“Masa-chan, what’s gotten into you?”

Why did she fall in love with a waste of time like Masara? A robot? A thing of little to no emotions?

“Masa-chan, answer me! You’re crying!”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time in her life, Masara actually wanted to die. But that would hurt Kokoro, so she turned invisible instead, leaving her friend confused and hurting as Masara always had.


	2. Masara stabs Kokoro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'This Rena... according to Mitama, she struggles to express her emotions, too. That she has another whom can glean the intentions of her heart... I'm interested to meet.' 
> 
> 'Kokoro, in her own way, never seemed to mistake my frankness or lack of passion to be borne of malice, either...'
> 
> 'She's the only one who ever had; the first person I'd ever manipulated and used, without even realizing it - what does that mean? What does it say about my heart's desire? I truly don't know.'
> 
> 'Therefore, I've elected to distance myself from Kokoro. It's for the best. Except now there is this feeling which plagues me on my Witch hunts.'
> 
> 'I wonder... this feeling...' 
> 
> 'Interesting. This must be how those pitiable magical girls feel at the end of my dagger. But why does it feel especially piercing whenever I consider the emptiness by my side?'

_Masa-chan! _At last, after three whole days, there she was. For the first time behind Kokoro on the path home instead of far, far ahead of her - invisible, somewhere, doing everything she could to avoid what had happened. Masara Kagami's face was set, glazed stare piercing some world-detached train of thought. 

At least to the casual eye, that's all there was, her thoughts trained on something so painfully obvious to Kokoro. Of course that had been all she's thought about. What Masara had done - _Goodness, what she had _done! Kokoro thought, unable to wear her magical girl outfit the same way again - it was all the absolute _LAST _thing Kokoro would ever expect to happen in their relationship. And...

Edging further around the brick, Kokoro squinted. Have_ you been getting enough sleep, Masara? _Just what did her stupid confession do to her best friend? To _them?_

Biting her voice, Kokoro whirled back around Central's parameter threshold. She clasped her hands and breathed deep, courage included, and counted from three. Two. One.

She stepped back around. "Don't go," said Kokoro immediately. "Please. I wanna talk. Prevent what we have from ending like this." 

Masara's eyes widened slightly - something was baffling to her, at least. "How did you get here, when gym is your final period?" 

"I skipped it altogether rather than leave in the middle," said Kokoro. Her gut sank at the idea of Sensei chewing her out next class in front of everybody, but Masara was worth it.

"You shouldn't skip your classes, Kokoro." She continued walking. Past Kokoro, not even glancing in her direction. "I have a Witch Hunt." 

That was it.

Three days since.

And that was it.

A blatant lie, for one. And running. Painfully obvious dodging of the issue. Not even a glance a hi or any regard for what she put Kokoro through for the last three - no, _four days, _counting that disrobe-me-and-vanish act Sunday evening. _Masara... I know you struggle with emotions, but you aren't a blatant jerk without at least giving me a reason why! _At least in the early days of their relationship, in the one and only time they had had such a falling out, Masara had explained herself. But something about this one and its... unreasonability, Kokoro decided... shattered something within that had been knotted up painfully in memories of Masara for the last three days, tearing into her with the brutal, serrated splinters erupted by that girl's coldness. Kokoro cried out. Masara staggered to a halt. 

She didn't _not_ care, at least. Kokoro grappled this hope, grit her teeth: from the pain, from the indignation of Masara's gall to treat her - _and what she had done last time they spoke _\- like all of it meant nothing at all. Those weren't her true feelings on the matter, however, and anybody who knew Masara as well as Kokoro would see that. She was running, clearly. It was childish but, what could one do when they had no idea what was running through their heart? Masara was brilliant in many ways, but stunted in others which cripple her social life. She must be so confused right now, let alone the past three days. 

But to lie so obviously...

_This IS my fault. _Kokoro's fears were at last confirmed. It just felt that way. _But blaming myself won't help Masa-chan. My problems don't matter. She is my elder, after all. _

But to have the gall to so blatantly lie, after everything they've been through and what they share...? 

Kokoro's retort and rage swelled from within her breast. "Don't act like I don't know what you get up to! You tail me, just like you did when you saved me from that girl, Suzune." Masara turned her head slowly. Kokoro elaborated, unable to help herself from smiling and thinking, _She's obvious. Always has been in a roundabout way. _"You tail me and run ahead, and kill Witches before I can get to them. That why I feel like I'm being followed. And that why's my Hunts have been almost fruitless, save for a few weaklings." 

Kokoro grasped her hips. 

"Well am I right, or am I right?" 

Masara's silver hair turned away. A fear grew - a fear that she would change, go invisible, and flee. _No. There are cars going by. _Vehicles emerged from her peripherals, curving the hill, turning around it. _She can't do that. She'll have to run, and I will do my hardest to get her. _

"False." Masara let that hang. "You just so happened to have caught me on a day I came in. I've skipped school for the last three days to exterminate nearly every Witch in your area. But they multiply like crazy in this town, the pitiable things. I've paired up with an underclassman from the middle school and her girlfriend in evenings, so don't worry about me having hurt myself." 

At least she considered that concern enough to preemptively ease it. Kokoro was glad this jerk couldn't see her smirk despite the situation, and herself. "Unbelievable, Masara." The gravity of it hit her. "You're skipping school over this?" 

"It's no issue. I get notes from Aimi Eri and our reading assignments from Ayaka Mariko. The material is simple to me, but not so simple I can skip an entire week." Kokoro didn't know what to say. Masara was just as blatantly avoiding the matter at hand as she was facing Kokoro. And why this way? To avoid her in any way possible, and yet, protect her at the same time? "If that is all..." And she just starts walking! 

"Wait," Kokoro realized, "are you implying that you're seriously willing to skip a week over this?! Oi! Masa-chan, wait up!" She caught up to the silver-haired girl at the hill's crest, Kokoro's portion of the neighborhood stretching out before Masara. Kokoro ran for it, past Masara and turned. 

Only for Masara to turn away, hiding her face. But stopping. At least. 

"Let me make one thing clear," she said evenly, "it isn't over 'this,' as you've been putting it, that I've been skipping school. I don't want you going on tough Hunts on your own and getting yourself killed. Because you're weak." She let that sink, those words' fangs hungry and deep. "I can kill Witches easily because I'm strong. It's far easier sneaking up for a killing blow when I'm alone." 

"That doesn't change one thing." Kokoro inhaled, steeling her wounded feelings - their tending-to will be done in solitude. "If you're facing a Witch that's tougher than a one-hit-blow, you got no one to cover you. And you're fragile, Masa-chan. You're strong, but weak as well." 

"And you just get in the way." Of course she does. "And I'm a far more elegant fighter than you." Not untrue, but still. Ouch. "I've been known to land more than a few critical blows." 

Kokoro rolled her eyes. "I might not be strong. But I am far from weak and you know it. My costume doesn't even tear so long as I can take the hit. And let me tell you, Masa-chan, I've felt a ton worse than a heavy blow from some ugly Witch. Something like," she hesitated, fearing, but forcing herself to finish, "like what you've been doing. To me, to what we have, you know? I miss it... don't you? Kagami-san?" Masara flinched. This was getting to her, and finally, to Kokoro as well. "Is this," she croaked, "_really_ sustainable? Or as interesting if not more enjoyable than our time together?" Masara's head lowered, her shoulders tensing. "Masa-chan?" 

"Isn't it clear," she uttered in a cold, dead voice, "that I don't want you around anymore?" 

_Don't back down, no matter how painful. _Kokoro sniffled, brow furrowing, hardening her soul. "I don't believe that. You're working yourself sleepless on my behalf." Masara's wince screamed of 'she noticed?' Kokoro smirked. "I could be misreading it again, true. But that still says something. It says you care about me. To hunt Witches for days on end, to skip school for someone you just 'don't want around' and nothing more..." 

"Shut up. It's a simple matter of not wanting your needless death on my conscience. The way you always throw yourself in front of me, it's irritating the way that makes me feel." The loudest she'd ever been, and Kokoro trembled under her somewhat hostile voice. Of course, it was simply because she didn't understand it, but still... "I'm fragile, but I can still take a hit. I'm a magical girl, remember? Of Kamihama at that - we can't die unless our Soul Gems are shattered." 

Kokoro's fists tightened, as her throat did as well. "And what if yours is broken because I'm not there to protect you?" 

Masara sighed. "Better me than you, Kokoro." Her arms rose, slowly crossing. Embracing herself. "Leave, please. This is for the best." 

"No!" Kokoro cried, reaching for her shoulder. "Why have you been hiding your face from me this whole time, anyway?" 

"I don't have to answer." 

"That in of itself in an answer, and it's a crappy one, Masara!" 

"You're annoying, Kokoro, the way you read my face and evaluate my emotion!" she snapped! 

"W-well, it's not like you're a hard or an easy read a hundred percent of the time, just like everybody else!" Kokoro defended shielding herself from Masara's... her shattered expression. Of course she didn't mean to snap. She didn't mean for any of this to happen. Kokoro straightened "You just don't understand them, is all. I'd be willing to help you, Masa-chan, if you'll just explain to me what it is you feel." 

Instead, her brows knitted, hooding eyes anchored to the ground. 

Kokoro pressed: “Come on, Masa-chan. We’ve watched enough anime to know how the whole ‘avoiding your problems-slash-friends’ plot goes.” 

Masara froze, a true statue of ice whose glare snapped unto Kokoro and froze her to the bone, stock still. “You’re treating this like some kind of story? Real life?” she asked coolly. 

Chillingly. 

“Is that what your love is, Kokoro? Your romanticized feelings for Kagami Masara, who can hardly understand her own, much less blow them out of proportion?” 

Kokoro winced, closed her eyes from the frightful visage of her beloved friend and braced for a verbal beatdown. 

“Kokoro-chan, what I’ve said to you,' she said gently, I’ve always tried to be as literal as possible. But what I’m about to say to you,” Masara hesitated, voice wavering believe it or not, “I say because you’re undeniably... you’re the one thing in my life I feel the most things for.” Her back was still turned to Kokoro. 

On a normal day, over something more petty, she would have a little gloat at having seen through Masara’s feeble pushing-away. Kokoro shoved back in reply. And shoved. And shoved. 

Whatever proceeded was to be the result Kokoro would have to live with. And Masara, most importantly of all. _ We need this, _ she reassured in case of the worst, _ Masara needs to process. Any step is a first step. _

“Kokoro,” Masara restarted, “I’ve lost sleep spending time beyond what are now your Witch Hunts on homework and… researching. For brevity’s sake, I’ll not go into the obvious realities you must already know: marriage between two of the same sex is not legal in Japan, and being in such a relationship has numerous barriers in the adult world, socially and professionally. And seeing as how Doppels prevent us from repaying Kyubey, so long as we live in Kamihama, such a future is a very real poss—no, a certainty. I’m putting those aside because they're the painful facts of this world—not to me, apologies to ruin your hope, but to some magical girls I know. Some don’t care about these things. You might now. But I won’t let you throw your future away, for one. Not over me. And I can already imagine your reassurances, and the sentiment is appreciated, Kokoro. But they’re wasted. And that’s what I really want to tell you... what will actually mean something to the both of us.”

Something big was coming. Like a violent thunderstorm. Kokoro couldn’t brace herself for this, she feared. 

Masara breathed deep, exhaled, and said softly, and calmly, “I can’t in good conscience deem our relationship healthy for you.” 

It came like a Witch’s talon to the gut. 

“After all the varying experiences I’ve read into, the most common traits in successful relationships include honest, open communication and an active interconnected lifestyle, with enough common grounds to make up for differences in passions, as well as in some a willingness to experiment. Kokoro-chan, I lack all marks in the latter, objectively speaking. I don’t have the passion for anything like that. I wouldn't be fulfilling in the longterm, in the odds that I find something I like. I'd be strung along by your whims, and over time my emotional disconnect from yours will create conflict and destroy us. And for communication, well, you read me well enough but much about you perplexes me to a degree that keeps me up at night. Except it’s unhealthy, what you feel. Your lack of interpersonal relationships was what resulted in you clinging to me."

This was too much. Too painful, too wrong in some and horribly right in others. "Masa-chan-"

"That much I understand. This, plus, my lack of social skills, renders a relationship with me effectively dead on arrival.” 

“Please!" The word strangled out from Kokoro. “Please, don’t talk about yourself like this. Just because you've decided anything I'd say to you is wrong, it doesn't make you or any of this right!” 

“But it’s true. And this belief of yours and instant denial of mine is part of the reason why I think our relationship isn’t healthy."

"You're no better right now!"

Masara clenched her fist. "Stop avoiding the reality at hand: you’ve clung to me the day we met. I don’t mind, though." Her words softened. "You’ve become something irreplaceable in my life.” 

Instead of this being heartmelting, it was irritating. “So you can feel that way but I can’t? I’ve got like issues but you're a clean bill of mental health?” 

“No!” Masara flinched back, shocked. And so did Kokoro - they were at last face to face. Masara blinked, her face resettling, seemingly unaware of the wet glimmers dancing the length of her cheeks. For how long had she been crying? “No," Masara resumed, calmly. "I'm not. I'm far from clean or healthy. But your strong feelings for me are indicative of a lack of professional help. The kind you should rely on for counseling more than me, who knows nothing. That's what I'm saying." 

Kokoro’s gut dropped. “A therapist.” 

“And that’s besides the point,” Masata continued, a force of nature and impossible to keep up with emotionally: “I’m as good of girlfriend material as I am a therapist. I can’t be what you need most right now, Kokoro-chan, unable to properly receive your emotions and help you through them. Now a professional—”

That was enough berating. “Who in Japan would even help me?” This couldn’t be happening. And from Masara of all people… 

“Kokoro, listen, I’m willing to pay for an American to do video calls with you. One who speaks fluent Japanese—” 

“No! No! You know what? _No!_” Kokoro paced into Masara’s stunned sight. “No, you’re listening to _ me, _now, okay?!” 

A delayed heartbeat later, furrowed brows. “Very well.” 

Kokoro exhaled. “Thank you. Look, Masa-chan, I can see the impassioned good intentions for me in what’s been said here. If you don’t mind, I’d like to copy and reaffirm that you’re someone incredibly important in my life. You’re gonna hate this, but it’s acts like this which make me love you even more, infuriating as they are in the moment.” She smiled, and Masara scowled away. What a tsundere. 

“That being said...” Kokoro let that hang, her emotions getting the better of her, dooming her tone: “You proclaim up and down that you aren’t fit to be with me, turning a blind eye to the fact that you’re deciding what I want and how I feel—and violating rule number one in any relationship _ including ours, _ for the first time ever, might I add—and ignoring the _ grossly offensive notion _ that you, who says such things, am in the same breath deciding that I need fucking _ therapy _ mostly just because you’ve observed I’m a _ loner… _” 

Kokoro took a deep breath, then exhaled airily at the subtle, sudden compression of Masara’s frame. _ You’ve been holding your breath, too? Sorry, I’m not usually like this. But ‘desperate times’ and all. _

“I can’t ignore the real problem going on here. The real reason why you’re pushing for this stuff. Why you’re saying these things and acting like this. All of that, while saying I’m the one who needs help, might I add once more?” 

“Get to your conclusion,” said Masara, folding her arms. 

Kokoro scowled, but she was honestly getting ahead of herself and reveling in Masara’s evident fumbles in a first-time breakdown. 

“Masa-chan,” said Kokoro, hands folding before her, “the real reason why all of this is happening… it’s because you don’t understand how you feel about me now. You’re confused, and you’ve done what you figured is one terrible thing after another trying to make sense of it and keep me safe. I’m sorry to say this again, but,” she whispered, “I love you so much.” 

A strangled, frustrated dampness kept Kokoro’s eyes and lips to her clasped hands. She didn’t want to embarrass Masara, who in the worst case scenario was so overwhelmed by whatever she was feeling that she was dwelling on that too deep to hear Kokoro. 

She powered on. This needed to be said. “Masa-chan, I’m sure you’ll find that no one can give you a straight answer on what love is. Or what it’s made of. But my daddy said the other day that if you love someone, and they love you, and you’re both willing to shoulder one another’s problems and help each other through it, well, loving despite those pains is what makes it real, and so unstoppable. 'It's why your mother and I are still together despite everything.'” Ignoring the fact that it was Kokoro... 

“And Masa-chan? Despite everything that’s happened, the feelings I voiced in the alley are still the same. And if we’re still being honest and frank here,” Kokoro mumbled, looking away as shame grasped her by the heart, “if we go back that far, I’m the reason why all of this has happened. When it slipped out I was at first afraid, but, well, I just assumed you didn't care. Then you suddenly sliced my bodysuit open.” She chuckled. “Evidently, my little slip of the tongue did something to you, huh?” 

Masara said nothing. Her face was downcast. She had to have been listening, awaiting more. 

Kokoro gave it to her gladly. “I’m not sure about love as a whole. But please don’t go and presume I don’t know my feelings, or that they’re unhealthy just because I _feel them_ for _you_, which… we’ll touch on that later. Way later. But for now, I know how I feel, Masa-chan. I knew the day we met that you’d be someone whose advice I could trust. Whose confidence, though inadvertent, I gained the more time we… or, well, I… spent with you. And now, we’ve been through so much together. Seen and done and talked every day almost. You smile and it makes me feel good, because I know I made that happen. I suddenly find myself the object of your will to live and it just… it makes my head spin. Me, someone as unremarkable and oafish as Awane Kokoro.” She swallowed her emotion. _ Reel it back. You almost lost yourself there… _

“Masa-chan, I hope you accept my apology for hurting you to this point. With what I’d said in the alley. You’re under no obligation to answer my feelings. I’d be happy if we could just pick up where we left off when you saved me from Suzune.” 

Stillness. Silence. Masara's fists trembled though, almost audibly as she squeezed them tight. “Why, Kokoro?” Masara lifted her head, revealing a desperate attempt at maintaining her resting face with ruddy eyes running as was her nose, and her words flowed free, wavering and rife with confused, barely contained and barely experienced emotion: “Why, Kokoro? Why are you like this? Why am I so important to you? Why do I have to accept your apology when I’m the one who's hurt you since the day we met? Kokoro-cha—” she choked, falling to her knees as she embraced herself.

Kokoro blinked, shaking off her stun and ran to console her. Masara tore away within arm's reach, sleek as a dancer, transforming and vanishing before she was upright completely. 

And after a few minutes of talking, Kokoro was now alone again. Because of her stupid self that always makes things worse, and breaks the things precious to her. 

She brought a fist upon her thigh. “I hate myself!” she cussed. She didn't really, but... _Dammit, Masa-chan. Please don't let me think I just went and made things worse. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rena and Kaede are up next. Masara needs to trust that Kokoro can help her understand what she cannot. Hopefully meeting more couples, romantic or not, will teach Masara what she must learn for Kokoro's sake, as well as her own, before the foreshadowing can be fulfilled.


	3. Rena loves Kaede except no she doesn't shut up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These girls are so much like Kokoro and I that it had to have been planned by fate. 
> 
> At least they communicate, albeit in a roundabout way.

Kamihama University rose into view from beyond the hill’s crest—a multi-limbed, crooked-legged monstrosity of a lecture building. Masara didn’t know why she was here. 

Then she thought about Kokoro for the first time since running. That’s right, she was setting out for its affiliate high school. 

Because Mitama said there was another couple who might prove helpful. 

Because Masara used Kokoro and she didn’t know why, nor why Kokoro tolerated it. 

And rather than cut her out altogether, now more than ever she haunted Masara in the lull of everyday life. It was irritating— _ Why? Why, why, why?  _

Why Masara? 

Why did she cross paths with someone good and harmless like Kokoro?

“Forgive me,” she felt like saying, as if her nonsense muttering reached far behind, to Kokoro’s heart. Even that was selfish in light of what just happened. Masara was poison—she never cared for how she came off to others but now she was acutely aware of everything she was doing wrong to Kokoro. 

_ I don’t understand her patience with me, the tolerance for abuse out of a need for affection. It’s not unlike that with her parents, but…  _

But now she was trying to blame Kokoro again, just like before, and she smashed Masara’s argument to pieces. Kokoro had been far more mature dealing with this than Masara had: she understood who she was, what she wanted. She fought for what she believed in while Masara up and ran from the challenge out of a sense of… 

Of what? 

Why was she so driven to spare Kokoro any kind of trouble? There was the practicality of it all for her sake, but something about Masara felt… invested over that end result. Moreso than she ever had before, or could recall being.  _ I’m just realizing this now, too…  _

_ Perhaps I love Kokoro without realizing it.  _ That would be disastrous for her future. If Masara was being this selfish now, she shuddered to think the repercussions it would have on Kokoro’s psyche in the long term. 

Girls in red plaid skirts left from the direction Masara was going, unwittingly missing her warlike hunt by a hair’s breadth. Masara could hear a few of them peep in surprise, perhaps look back only to find no one in sight. 

_ What wisdom could the personal lives of Mitama’s clients possibly bring me that would help?  _ she wondered.  _ Perhaps I shouldn’t waste their time.  _

But the thought of running away once more kept her on the path toward Kamihama University and its joint high school. Masara, cloaked still, kept her eye out for a duo who normally did a Hunt after Wednesday classes, according to their blonde leader. Togame Momoko worked as the Coordinator’s Witch-groundskeeper this day of the week, citing it as the perfect time to “ambush the two knuckleheads.” Masara’s “third eye,” kept peeled for any traces of a Witch or magical girl, reached faintly in all directions, but more potently nearby, two signatures not at all like a Witch’s. One had a damper feel to it, as if the portion of her thigh which displayed Masara’s soul gem was wrapped in damp cloth. 

It had to have been Minami Rena. 

Winding through central Kamihama, Masara found her upon rounding the corner: a girl in the direction of that soaking sensation, befitting of Mitama’s sing-song profile, throwing her gaze down the street. . 

_ “Blue hair and pigtails. Nearly my bust size but not quite~" Found you.  _ The short girl stormed off, seemingly on a mission. Masara paced after, in no time closing the distance. 

She almost thought of turning visible, back to her school uniform. Togame’s warning came to first: this girl was volatile, and required an amicable approach. 

Rena made a hard left into Kamihama Central Park, more a small forest if anything. Her pace and breathing quickened. Whenever she peeked down one of the branching paths to a clearing, Masara saw worry in her eye.  _ This seems urgent,  _ she observed. Too much was going on for her to leave this encounter empty-handed, however.  _ I won’t reveal myself unless I’m sure it’s not a bad time.  _

She kept in Rena’s stormy pace, eyes on the girl’s schoolbag and its bobbing bunny keychain. Yellow sunlight dappled her and the path ahead, gold daggers thrusting through the leafy horizon. 

_ I’ve walked this with Kokoro before,  _ Masara realized.  _ I never cared much for walking, or running, until I was doing it with her beside me more often than not.  _ The same went for nature. Being outside, smelling the crisp fresh air. Having someone beside you who was totally in love with your company—- _ Why, dammit? _

Rena Minami spun on her heels, whipping her pigtails and glare in Masara’s direction.

A hand clasped upon her uneven breathing.  _ I got distracted,  _ Masara realized, _ my footsteps fell heavy.  _

Rena scoffed, turning. The bursting shift in mood entailed a viciousness that was her default. 

At least, that’s what Masara guessed based on what she heard. Togame was not incorrect—this one only knew how to interact with aggression on the forefront, even with strangers. Or, as her friend put it, she was “hotheaded.” 

It was in this moment that Masara thought once, and only once: until now she never had a preference for personality, but she mused in that instant—if she were to deal with one on a daily basis, between Rena and Kokoro the obvious choice would be the most calm between them. 

The shorter girl continued on. Masara kept in line, falling on the heel of her foot rather than dropping it. The shaded path soon opened to a clearing shrouded in a leafy overcast, sunlight stabbing through and washing the space in gold. 

Approached by Rena, bespeckled in spots of sunlight sat a skinny little redhead at a picnic table, one that fit Togame’s description. Even her “emotional” characteristic, her school uniform rippling with light as whimpers shuddered through her. 

Sighing softly, Rena inhaled deep and crossed her arms, Akino lost in woes all the while. 

“Oi! Kaede,” greeted Rena. Notably, the tension and hurriedness propelling her until now was gone. This aggression could be “normal” for her and Akino. “The hell do you think you are,” she wondered, “up and ditching me like that?” 

Flinching, Kaede ran her sleeves and the backs of her hands along her face. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “A-are you okay, Rena-chan? I’m so sorry my Doppel hurt you!” 

“I’m alive, don’t worry about me,” came the immediate reply. “What I felt doesn’t matter—” 

_ “You were puking BLOOD!” _ Kaede was frozen. Rena was frozen. The redhead’s face twisted with fresh grief. “You were poisoned horribly and it was all my fault.” Kaede curled within herself, wrestling her school tie. “You were poisoned and bleeding,” she breathed, gazing ahead into the memory. “And I can’t… get the sounds you made out of my head...” 

Rena, still until now, gripped Kaede’s wrist. Feeble on the surface, but it drew Kaede’s tear-soaked face. “I’m perfectly  _ fine _ ,” Rena stressed. “But… you’re not.” Kaede’s expression crumbled once more, sobbing into her hands. “You’re fine,” she uttered now and again, rubbing the skinny girl’s back.

Her crying softened into sniffles. Rena murmured, “What brought out Zola in the first place? I know you’re careful, and I know you wouldn’t risk letting her loose if your soul gem was too corrupted. So… what happened back there?” 

Kaede lowered further into her hands, shaking. “I’m sorry again. I’m so sorry.” 

“Quit being sorry and tell me what happened.” Rena’s face lowered, adding softly, “Please.” 

“It’s stupid. You’ll hate it.” 

“I promise I won’t.” Kaede gazed aside, biting her lip. It was too much for Rena, opting to lower hers in turn. “Kaede.  _ Please _ . You’re my best friend and I’m worried as hell. That sounds weird and insincere coming from me, I know,” she rambled, “and I know literally  _ anyone  _ other than me would be better to talk to right now, but still—! Still…” All without looking Rena lifted the wrist she clutched, moved both hands to squeeze Kaede’s between them. “Fuck,” she hissed, seemingly posed in prayer—-an unusual sight for the girl with such a distinctively authoritative first impression, but perhaps this, too, was their true dynamic. “I don’t know Kaede. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” 

“R-Rena-chan! It’s okay! Really. It’s not a big deal at all. It’s just those girls, th-the ones who talk near us at lunch—” 

“It was  _ those  _ bitches who got to you?!” 

Kaede’s eyes flashed wetly, lashing Rena. “You can’t tell me they said anything that's exactly wrong!” she cried. “Or that you don’t think what they do sometimes…” 

“Kaede—” 

“‘Oh,’” Kaede sneered, through closed throat and wavering words, “‘that Akino-san’s almost an adult and she has no passions or aspirations!’ ‘Right? She’s going to become a NEET after graduation!’ ‘Befriending her is social suicide, y’know?’ ‘It’s a good thing Minami-san doesn’t have friends, either—losers flock together and all that.’” 

A second passed. She was finished. “Th-that’s all bullshit, though!” Rena leaned close, hissing, “That’s  _ bullshit  _ and you  _ know  _ you got no reason to listen. How many times have we been over this, Kaede?” 

“Too many, I know. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s not my point! Those girls have no idea how kickass you really are.” 

A feeble smile. “Nor they you.” Kaede dropped the smirk, her gaze. “Those bullies are right about one thing, though: I’m a parasite.” 

Rena leered back. “They  _ said  _ that?” she breathed slow, fists clenching. 

“Not exactly,” said Kaede. “It’s not wrong when you think about it: I take from you and Momoko and give nothing but work back. I destroyed your reputation just by being a part of it. Even among those in our year, Momoko isn’t as beloved as she ought to be. I only know this because she’s spoken always with my name in the same breath… And laughter,” she croaked. 

Rena had been frozen until then. And then she snarled at Kaede’s sardonic smile. “Why do you even give a shit what those jerks say?! They don’t know you! Or me, or Momoko! Who gives a crap about them?! Nobody knows who we are, what we are or what we have! What the hell gives them the right to decide the kind of value we have, huh?!” 

Kaede, eyes wide and glassy, mumbled “Rena-chan” into her cupped hands. A blush crowned the flesh above her fingertips. “P-please, it's fine. Really. This is honestly not so different from how I’m usually—” 

“And that’s my issue! You don’t deserve this crap, period!” Kaede said nothing, and Rena looked away blushing. She was giving Rena the same look Masara always saw in Kokoro.  _ She’s in love with her best friend, too?  _

“I could just say what I’ve always said,” continued Rena, talking to her hand, “but clearly that’s not gonna help. And I dunno what to say to make you believe my stupid-ass is being rea. Which  _ sucks  _ because you got zero reason to ever do that, what with how much I lie out the ass, and deflect you and Momoko. Stupid Rena, am I right?”

“It’s not as bad as you think, Rena-chan. I can tell what you really mean.” 

Still facing away, her face dropped, shook slowly, a bitter chuckle rising from the silence. “Okay, I get it now. I’m always making you do things, so, for once, I’ll do a thing for you.” Rena lifted her head, a scared smile for herself. “I’ll do all the talking, and you don’t have to say anything. And when we finish, after whatever you say, if anything, we’re gonna hit the arcade and have pizza for dinner. And after that, for the rest of our lives every day after, you’re gonna tell me when you feel like you destroy everything you touch, and… and I promise…  _ I fucking promise…  _ that I’m gonna call whenever I feel like you and Momoko’s life will get better if I’m not in it.” 

Kaede inhaled slowly, eyes wide and wet, still cupping her face. That look alone deemed such a declaration a special, a once-in-a-lifetime thing.  _ I’d never be able to manage that much,  _ Masara mused.  _ Rena-san is a pleasant surprise. _

That same girl sputtered suddenly, blushing whilst defending herself: “Don’t think it’s because I’m worried about how you feel! You Doppel-out way less than I do, for sure. You’re comparatively  _ fine _ . No, this is all just so I’m not puking my life out the next time you bring Zola out to play.” 

Masara could hear Kokoro beside her, remarking how terrible that is to say to a hurting friend. But Kaede chuckled instead of cry, and Masara questioned once more what exactly made their dynamic work, Ayano and Isuzu’s, and her own and Kokoro’s. 

“Uh, hey, th-those Doppel-things mean something, right?” Rena grabbed Kaede’s attention. “About us. That’s what Mitama says anyway.” 

“Y-you don’t have to tell me again what yours—” 

“I know you know what mine means!” Rena cried, blushing—Masara only knew because her ears turned pink. “That’s not what I was getting ready to blurt out.” She breathed, mustering her drive. “You’re gonna hate me for this, but I’ve been lying to your faces pretty much every day since we beat the Magius. Instead of talking about my issues, I hold it in like every other stupid teenager Kyubey tricks until their Witch explodes outta them. Hell, I don’t think a week’s passed without mine going nuts on some Labyrinth.” Kaede said nothing, but she replied loud: astonishment, hurt, concern all writ clear upon her face. Rena finally saw, too, avoided again just as promptly, saying, “I go on one last Hunt every so often. After we each head home. I hold it in, my anger, what I hear girls at school say about the two of us. I picture the Witch I’m fighting as having their faces—” 

“Rena-chan—-” 

“I go out, feeling like I’m suffocating as I tear through the streets tryna find one. And when I do… Cinderella whispers in my brain, ‘If you were better, none of those girls would have a problem with you or Kaede. They’d leave you alone, pick on someone else. You’d feel great if some other Kaede got bullied in your place, right?’” 

Kaede, twisted with indignation, tore away from Rena. “Why didn’t you  _ talk  _ to us?” she squeaked. 

“I don’t know.” 

“About any of this, to me or Momoko?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“What was the point of even overthrowing the Magius if we go and prove them  _ right?! _ ” 

_ “Like you’re one to talk!”  _

Kaede puffed. “Fair enough. I didn’t want to bother you either. You see, I also thought my feelings were a stupid waste of one of my only friends’ time, a friend who I thought wouldn’t care.” 

“You know I would, dammit!” Rena snarled, every word heaved with emotion. “Are you seriously kidding me right now, with that?! Tha-that I wouldn’t give half a  _ shit  _ about what my best fucking friend is feeling?!” 

Kaede wiped her cheeks, trying to willpower a stiff upper lip. “I’m sorry, Rena-chan, I spoke too harshly,” she said tersely. “Still, I can’t help the way I feel, and it seems neither can you: nobody would wanna deal with every little bad thought that crosses our minds. Even though we  _ promised already  _ to change and be honest after the Magius was beaten. That we’d prove magical girls outside Kamihama can beat becoming a Witch!” 

Rena sputtered, Kaede implications evident to Masara. “What do you think I’m doing right now?” 

“The right thing,” said Kaede, cupping her friend’s cheek. “But I need to be better, and so do you. Because if not, if we continue hiding how we feel from each other until our curse bubbles over, and we essentially break the threshold of becoming Witches, we’re not changing anything. We’re not getting better, and we help nobody that way, least of all ourselves.” 

“Alright, fine,” she breathed quickly. Rena shook her head. “Dammit, dammit, fine. You know I suck at this stuff, but I’ll blow you away, just watch. And listen good.” 

“I am. I’m always listening,” Kaede hiccuped, “Rena-chan.” 

_ “No, you’re not!”  _ Rena winced, threw her welling eyes to find themselves alone still as Kaede ran a forearm across her eyes. “You never listen to me.” She spoke tersely, a dam ready to break. “I’m always telling you to stop feeling bad about yourself and I just make you worse. I make you worse and I can’t even work up the stupid nerve to say what I  _ really mean _ saying all that!” 

“You don’t have to force yourself like this, Rena-chan. Really! I know you care about me, I do.” 

“No, you don’t! You  _ don’t  _ really know what I mean, ‘cause I’m always being so  _ wishy-washy _ and  _ scared  _ and  _ stupid  _ and-and—” 

“Rena,” Kaede murmured, “you’re getting off track.” 

A huff. “I told you, I’m not good at this crap.” 

“Your best has always been enough for me, Rena-chan.” Kaede smiled, brown eyes shining brighter as they glistened. Rena melted, mumbling bitterly. Even Masara felt that same skipping sensation in her chest she got from Kokoro’s smiles. 

“You’re so much better than me at this,” said Rena, so soft it’d have been inaudible had Masara’s breathing not been halted, too. “Being honest with how you feel. Smiling and saying embarrassing shit like it doesn’t bother you.” 

“Oh, you think too highly of me. I can only be this confident when I’m with you and Momoko.” 

“Still. I can’t even manage that much.” 

Kaede smiled encouragingly, squeezing Rena’s hands and grabbing her with that look. “Try your best. I won’t mind.” 

Rena said nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

And then, she mumbled. 

“What?” cooed Kaede. “You’re sorry? For what?” 

Rena’s face lowered. “Because I love you.” 

“Eh?!” 

“I… love... you.” Kaede’s eyes widened. “I love you, I love you,” Rena squeaked. “You and Momoko, I… I’d not be able to deal without you guys. None of this—being a magical girl… going to school. Waking up,” she uttered hoarsely. “None of it. It’s hard, Kaede. It’s so damn hard to do this every day and  _ listen  _ to them talk about me!” Sobs wracked her narrow shoulders, her skinny torso. “I’m sorry I’m weird,” Rena cried. “M’sorry you’re loved by someone like me.” 

“Rena-chan—”

“But I had to say this now, because if I didn’t…” She threw her arms around Kaede. “Because if I didn’t, I never would, and you’d never know how damn much I care!” Sobs were spent into Kaede’s neck; the “emotional one” of the two could only sit there, trapped, staring past Rena’s throbbing shoulder. Before long her eyes welled, too. “Kaede,” Rena wept, “please believe me, Kaede, I can’t think of anything else to say now, so please… just  _ talk, dammit,  _ please!” 

Kaede blinked, shedding tears, gazing beside her at the tousled, pigtailed head of hair caressing her cheek. Then, she smiled. Then, she squeezed Rena tight. “I love you too, Rena-chan. I promise I’ll never, ever forget what you said here.” 

“Good. I shouldn’t have to say that I’ll never have this kind of courage again.” 

Giggling, Kaede squeezed Rena against her. “And also, I promise that I’ll talk to you when I’m feeling down,” she hummed, “but only if you do that, too.” 

“Yare yare. Guess I got no choice then.” 

Something signaled to Masara that this was the end of their little display. She’d watched the whole thing. 

_ That would be mortifying to Kokoro if someone had been listening in on one of our intimate conversations.  _

Why did this only click with Masara now? Even more perplexing, she cared about this—period. Many firsts had happened this first week, she mused. 

A normal person would leave by this point.  _ But I’m abnormal and don’t care what these two girls think of me. I have even more questions now, and they might give answers that will salvage the one special thing in my life.  _

Masara emerged, all humming and sparkles and dressed in white. Kaede who faced her gave a start. “Excuse me, I’m sorry for—” 

_ “AGH the FUCK?!”  _ Rena spun around. “What the fuck?! Who the  _ FUCK  _ are you?!” 

“I’m—”

“How fucking much of that did you hear?! And you were  _ totally following me _ before, weren’t you?!” 

Masara crossed her arms. “Stop cussing. I apologize for startling you. And spying.” The weight of everything came surging forth once more, impossibly heavy on the brain—Masara massaged her temple. “My head has been out of sorts lately. This isn’t an excuse, merely a reason. My approach was sincerely regrettable. Forgive me.” Masara bowed at the hips. 

Scoffing, Rena pivoted away, arms crossed. “That just makes you even creepier. Why if those words and this setup had you as some old man in a trenchcoat, well, you know what we are. You’d be worm-food before you could even think about copping a feel.” 

_ This was ill-planned. What drove me to forget this was a socially unacceptable idea?  _

Kaede’s eyes widened, alight with recognition. “Ah! Wait! You must be Kagami Masara-san, right? Rena-chan, she’s come for our help!” Hesitant, Rena turned. “With everything that happened at school, it completely slipped my mind, but—”

“Oi, baka-Kaede. You’ll pay later for letting me get scared like that.” Kaede moaned, Rena’s shoulders wilting. “So, out with it. Who’s this and how can I possibly help her?”

“Mitama-san asked if we could help this magical girl with some relationship problems, said she’d meet us outside the school gate after the day’s classes.” 

“But why us?” snapped Rena, reddening for some reason. 

“They believe our relationship might be able to help.” Kaede twiddled her fingers. “I don’t understand either, but I couldn’t turn down someone who I might be able to help!” 

“No. You couldn’t. I understand, though.” Rena leveled her friend as if she just presented the most childish line of thinking. “My question remains, though.” 

“For the sake of context,” said Masara, “this was all Mitama-san’s doing. Her goodwill. Personally, I’ve no clue what to think about your dynamic. My gut reaction is frankly a repellant one, and yet, oddly nostalgic.” 

Rena scowled. “I’m hating this more and more. Kaede, you know how I feel about strangers, too.” 

A lowering of the head. “I’m sorry. I thought this one would be different because she, err, I-I mean I  _ heard  _ that, uh… the way she sees people, err...” 

Rena took notice as well: Masara had approached. The blunette gave a start upon turning, cussing in a breath. 

Masara mustered a smile she hoped was calming. “Minami-s—...Rena-chan. We’re not so different. For you see, I, too, struggle expressing my true emotions.” The girl went stiff, then slack. Soft, though guarded still.  _ Don’t think. Just talk like her, make her understand that I do, too,  _ thought Masara. 

The notion reasserted itself within her chest. 

And her eyes widened.

_ I  _ do  _ understand her,  _ Masara realized.  _ Not even the girl who loves me is so close to comprehensible as Minami Rena.  _

Masara breathed deep, releasing all reservations. “It’s hard voicing how I feel almost all the time,” she thought aloud. “In fact, it’s even harder for me. Simply put, I’ve a condition that makes comprehending emotions a challenge. My own most of all. Life was dull and routine because of this, lacking any kind of energy, which is a different kind of Hell from yours I suppose. But then, I’d founded my own Akino Kaede. I hurt her constantly, and yet she always manages to spin my actions into something she’s endeared by… And I don’t know why.” 

Rena searched her face, hardness slackening by the second. 

Masara felt she’d won her over. “I implore you to help me understand. If you do, I’m willing to share my dessert bento with you.” She unslung her schoolbag, the bribe held within. 

Rena’s gaze ping ponged between them. Then settled on Kaede, who nodded with a smile. “Alright, fine, whatever. But I’m not answering anything I don’t want. Capisce?” 

“I presumed that goes without saying.” 

They used the picnic table Kaede was found sitting on, her and Rena on the side with the path facing them and Masara’s back to it, who filled them in for the sake of context whilst setting up. 

Masara concluded, “Not wishing to bombard her with my volatile, uncertain emotions, I ran here as quickly as possible.” 

Rena looked pale. “You guys are all kinds of messed up. Seriously!” 

“Rena-chan…” 

Masara set aside spoons, unknotted the bento’s sack. “You’re one to talk,” she muttered. 

The deaf brat gawked at Masara’s Coordinator-paid dessert bento. 

“Pudding? Moon pie? Italian eclairs?!” Perched over the small spread, Rena leered across at Masara. “This ain’t no coincidence, it’s a Momoko Betrayal! Giving you ammo against me and everything, no wonder you were sent to us, of all girls.”

Clearly this one was used to being so paranoid, yet this might be one of the few instances with valid assertions. Masara said, “Though I wouldn’t think this a betrayal. If that’s how it is, if my sudden appearance is a bother, I wouldn’t mind leaving. It’s understandable.” 

Rena blanched. “I didn’t say  _ that! _ ” 

Masara was reminded why she didn’t like dealing with this type. “Then why make an issue out of Togame’s assistance?” 

“Because! Because…” Rena mumbled. “‘Cause of course she’d think a bribe is the only way to get to me. Like I don’t gotta heart.” 

Kaede looked down, winced, and clasped Rena’s balling fist. “You  _ know  _ that’s not what she thinks, Rena-chan.” 

Sighing, Rena’s anger unfurled in Kaede’s hand. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Sorry, Momoko. I can’t shake these thoughts once they get in my brain.” She tilted her head, seemingly indifferent despite asking, “You ever get like that? Thinking about people in ways you always tell yourself is right, even if it’s totally insane and unrealistic?” 

Masara shook her head. “I’ve never had much care for the whims and perceptions of others. I can read the envy in your eyes, or perhaps it’s admiration, but I assure you it’s ill-placed. When you can’t bring yourself to care or have any dignity, people will want to stop associating with you. You’re labeled weird. And embarrassing. And it’s a cycle for me, because even with everybody’s back turned I still can’t care. Just shrug. I make no effort, and as a result, I’ve had less of a life than I would otherwise.” 

Rena, wide-eyed, could think of nothing to say. Nobody could. Only to drop her gaze, lips pursed. 

Masara had seen that look from so many others after similar monologues. 

“If it’s any consolation,” she said, grabbing the younger girls’ despondence, “I am the least judgemental person you will ever meet. So many people I’ve met, magical girls, too, act in ways they think embarrassing, but I judge with the same consideration as I do the act of breathing. Usually, I can’t even care enough to spend energy judging. I see you, and I see someone who has their own reasons for being who they are. The both of you. That’s how everybody is. Believing anything else detaches one from reality, propels delusions of grandeur if one spends their subconscious brain power putting others down.” 

Rena sat, spoon grasped limply in her fingers. In a fist she touched it to her lips, gazing aside. “More people should be like you,” she mumbled. Finishing even softer, “I’m no better, but, I’d like to be.” 

Something twanged in Masara’s heart. It hurt weirdly. “You’re not the first to tell me that. My response remains unchanged: what I think is nothing special. It’s normal.” 

Kaede smiled. “The fact that you think that is most definitely  _ not  _ normal!” 

“I think it’s…” Rena swallowed, blushed, gazed aside. “That it’s pretty cool of you to feel this way. Kaede’s right: not a lot of people think like you do, even though it makes a lot of sense. So, thanks. For being you.” 

Once again, nostalgia whipped Masara where it’s hurt for days. “You’re… again, not the first to say that.” 

“M-Masara-san?” Kaede squeaked. “You look haunted, what’s wrong?” 

She hadn’t realized, and didn’t care. 

Because these little strangers thought Masara was just the bee’s knees. 

“What you said is wrong. To me. Why do you think that?” She held her head, pulsing with memories of Kokoro’s smiles, her random thanks of Masara being just Masara. “What about me,” she uttered slowly, “is so admirable and praise-worthy? Can you tell me that, if nothing else?” 

Silence. 

Masara looked up.

They were wide-eyed, with parted lips and pallid complexions.

“There’s nothing about me that's unique or special. If anything, I’m a blank page at best and an unforeseen source of pain at worst. So… why?” Masara shook her head. “Why am I even here, asking such abstract things of you two?” She rose. “I apologize. This was a waste of your alone time, enjoy the bento—” 

“It sounds like you’re not the biggest fan of Kagami Masara-san,” said Kaede, exchanging a smile with Rena. Something in her eye forced Rena away, to shovel pudding into her mouth. 

“I have no opinion on myself whatsoever,” Masara believed. Though Kokoro, as she did with many things, threw that rock-solid belief into disarray. “There isn’t much to be opinionated on, and that which is there are objectively undesirable traits.” 

“But you clearly think something of yourself, if you’re spoutin’ crap like that,” Rena snapped, still glaring aside. “You think you’re worthless scum unfit to walk beside your girlfriend. Or whatever. I… kinda get it.” She took an eclair, bit into it, exchanging glances with each of them. 

She paused on Kaede’s awestruck grin. “I hate that damn smile. It feels like you’re teasing me with that.” 

“I’m not! It’s just…” She put a hand to her cheek, remarking as if to herself, “I didn’t think you’d be so transparent with a stranger, is all.” 

Rena shrugged, sucking cream off her thumb. “She’s an exception.” 

Giving a laugh, Kaede turned to Masara, taking a spoonful of pudding. “Did you only begin thinking badly of yourself after Kokoro-san entered the picture?” 

“As far as gaining a bit of self-awareness and doing something about it for the sake of another, then yes, this is a first.” But it only became so problematic ever since that night in a blood-scented alleyway. Masara’s hand rose before her—the one that’d been covered in another girl’s crimson a week ago. The one that killed her. “I didn’t care that I’d slaughtered another human for the first time in my life,” Masara recalled, “just this restless fire that burned in my stomach, and flared whenever I thought about how close Kokoro was to death. That feeling was definitely a first.” 

“M-Masara-san—?”

“In fact,” she realized, closing her fingers, “I started experiencing a whole rainbow of different sentiments only as Kokoro became a part of my daily life.”

“‘Rainbow?’” Kaede put her hands together, all smiles. “That’s a lovely way of putting it. This Kokoro-chan sounds like she’d made a huge impact on your life. No wonder you can relate to us: I’ve been as much a place of support and comfort for Rena as she’s been a pillar of strength for me. I love her, I really do! She’s my best friend!”

“Kaede!” Rena moaned, face-desking the table. 

“What? You know she won’t judge, Rena-chan. That obviously means she won’t bother to gossip.” 

“It’s true. Typically, the details of conversations fade hours after having them. Only specific moments and… sentiments, I suppose, stick with me.” 

Kaede smiled, but her eyes glimmered with pain—an odd sort of familiarity she saw in Masara, it seemed. “Do you think you’re emotionless, Masara-san?” She winced on the spot. “I-I’m sorry! Forgive me for being so blunt! Forget I said anyth—” 

Rena scoffed, rolling her eyes. “She doesn’t care. Relax already.” 

Kaede rose though kept her head low, and a tint redder than before. “Um… m-my question, though. Please.” 

Masara had barely heard all that transpired after Kaede first asked the question. Kaede’s words overwhelmed them all, again and again. 

_ ‘Do you think you’re emotionless, Masara-san?’  _

Quickly it gave way to similar echoes:  _ ‘Do you even feel anything?’  _

_ ‘You a sociopath or something?’  _

_ ‘You’re so creepy! Like some porcelain fucking doll or some shit…”  _

“Of course I’m not,” she said, colder than she intended—that is to say, not at all. “I am sentient, a self-aware creature with the ability to form complex opinions about anything and everything. And I know these things I’m allowed to feel because of that are emotions.” 

“Rather, what I  _ do  _ think of myself as, is someone with a mental disorder that feels a special and inexplicable attachment to a girl who insisted herself upon my life. I’m unsure if what either of us feels is love or something more dangerous and harmful. And if I may be so frank, the entire time I was watching your back and forth, the only thing I gathered was that Rena-san was unintentionally abusive like me. And Kaede-san was able to stand by her and understand her intentions beneath the anger. Not unlike Kokoro-chan.” 

Silence fell as Masara awaited their reply.

“Uh, yeah?” Rena drawled. “That’s called knowing somebody. And being their friend.” 

“Willing to suffer mental and emotional pain by the very dynamic of a relationship is what it means to be simple friends?” Masara huffed— _ huffed— _ but she didn’t mind this fire swelling in her breast. In a way, it reminded her of Suzune Amano. “I thought Mitama-san brought me here because what the two of you had was love. And you, Rena-san, said love before. As did Kaede.” 

She blushed, stammering. “Friends can love each other! So what?!” 

Those words triggered memories of a forum discussion Masara skimmed amidst her nights of web-surfing. “So nothing. That’s my point. Two people can share intimate relations, and it certainly wouldn’t be love if there’s none shared between them. Love doesn’t seem to choose whether or not you’re friends. Some people just can’t help it.” With the concept of “forbidden love” thrown into the mix, Masara perceived more cons to the emotion than pros. Of course, she also learned people value things differently. 

“Kokoro can’t help it,” she continued, seeing her tears in place of the dessert bento. “I’ve imprinted something whether I intended to or not, and now she can’t help but feel attached to me. I wish I understood why me, though.” 

“So that’s what you meant before,” said Kaede. “I can relate.” 

“You can?!” Rena leered back, away from the girl. “Why?! It should be obvious why I give a shit!” 

“No, it is! I was talking about Momoko, is all.” 

Rena stiffened, eyes wide. Everything drooped as she sighed. “Me too.” 

Masara felt a pang of familiarity in the sight before her. “It seems you two should be more open with your elder, as well as each other.” 

“Like you’re any better!” Rena snapped, flushing. 

Masara folded her arms. “I never said I was. Just making an observation.” 

As Rena sagged within herself once more, Kaede twiddled her fingers, not quite meeting Masara’s eyes. “Momoko’s got enough on her plate with us already.” She eyed the bento their leader paid for. “She would love to help us, and she wouldn’t mind, but that’s my problem with going to her for help. Rena, too, I think.” The tsundere hesitated a nod. 

Masara looked to the broken canopy above. Burnt orange of early evening winked back through rustling leaves. “I am no good authority on this,” she admitted, “but if Kokoro is willing to suffer my nonsense for the sake of our bond, I think Togame-san is equally as selfless. If that’s not love, I truly don’t know what is.” 

“I barely understand it,” she continued after a silent lull, “where the line is drawn between romantic affection and platonic love. But that much at least sounds sensical to me: love is an especially powerful emotion which transcends all established behaviors and beliefs if powerful enough. My outlandish behavior and choices scream of this. Kokoro’s self-inflicted curse in the form of our relationship does, too. Clearly, between the four of us, I think I can accept now that we regard our special people with something a little more potent than simple friendship. A little more illogical, harmful, and dangerous… yet keeps us coming back for more. No matter how often we’re hurt or hurt each other.” 

Kaede and Rena exchanged a look. 

A long look. 

A long, long look. 

Tears filled the eyes of Minami Rena. She scrubbed them away, growling, bursting out a sob. “I’m sorry,” she slurred, “for everything, Kaede.” 

Blushing, she took Rena’s hands, and her full attention. She squeezed them, smiled sweetly like Kokoro. “I  _ love  _ you Rena-chan,” she squeaked, turning red as her hair, “I’ve… always loved you.” She grinned, wetness flying from her eyelashes. “Even if you’re an obtuse pain in the butt sometimes!” 

Rena flinched, wrenched her gaze away to the dessert bento. “Why do you always say embarrassing fucking shit, I can never fucking respond,” she grumbled. 

“It’s a good thing you said enough before Masara came, then!” said Kaede. Rena just hid her face in her shoulder, a flush creeping up her forehead, the tips of her ears. 

Even Masara could tell this was a moment. They looked so much like Ren and Rika just now. She went to stand, drawing the surprise of the younger magical girls. 

“I believe our conversation potential has been exhausted, and my curiosity satisfied,” she said. 

Kaede stood, letting go of Rena and propping herself on the table. “Wait! Y-your question, though, is it answered? Do you wanna talk about it more?” she asked, clasping her heart. Rena remained sitting, staring ahead instead of Masara’s face. She was distant, and the blush on her face implied the why of it well enough. 

It was because of that, really, that Masara wished to leave. But she had to be honest with these girls who were so helpful to her. “Somewhat,” she said. “Observing the two of you, hearing what you had to say, it made sense of things which had puzzled me on my own for days, which hours of internet searching couldn’t properly convey. I needed to see it, hear your voices I think. However, I know myself, and I know further discussion would surely lead us to speaking cyclically. Ergo, I’m ending this now.” 

And she willed herself a smile, genuinely hoping for this special bond to grow stronger over time. “You have your own lives to live as well,” she said. “I’ve already taken too much of your time.” 

“H-hey!” Rena snapped, shooting up in her seat. “Shut up about that! We wouldn’t have… urgh,” she growled, glaring aside. Flushing, she muttered, “We wouldn’t have talked like we did at this table if you hadn’t started asking stupid embarrassing things.” 

Kaede brightened, hands clapping together as she looked from Rena to Masara. “Oh! If you wouldn’t mind, m-may we, uh, ha-have your phone number?” She stammered, hands a blur before her. “D-don’t feel obligated if you don’t want to! We’re fine with just our little circle of friends as it is, honest.” 

Rena huffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah. We don’t like pity.” 

“But we both really liked talking to you.” Rena said nothing, meaning Kaede somehow gleaned that from her roundabout gratitude. “We would love to at least go on some hunts with you and Kokoro. Maybe the five of us can do something fun, even?” 

Nobody other than Kokoro had ever actively sought Masara’s company. She didn’t know what to feel, but it was lighter than the heaviness which had plagued her for days, her thoughts of Kokoro, and it wasn’t unpleasant. 

But then, of course, Kokoro was now on the forefront. “I must warn you, I don’t make for good company.” 

“We’ll be the judges of that,” said Rena. “So quit deciding how your f-f-f-friends feel, dammit!” she finished with a wince. 

Kaede regarded her with awe. “I’m proud of you for saying all that, Rena-chan. Wow.” She recoiled with a squeak as Rena flicked her. 

“Oi. Don’t patronize me.” She gave a start as Masara slid her phone over to them. Kaede leaned closer, the two of them taking their own devices out and copying the number she displayed. 

“I always respond immediately if I’m not doing anything,” said Masara. “And if I’m free, I’d be willing to do just about anything. Apologies in advance if my company is not up to your standards.” 

“Quit hating yourself already,” Rena mumbled, pocketing her phone. “It’s… not good, okay?” 

“We’re always willing to talk, Masara-chan, about anything!” Kaede added. 

They were too much like Kokoro now. She swiped her device away. “I appreciate your accommodating nature.” She stepped away and over the bench, and bowed at the hips. “I hope you continue to have excellent communication,” Masara confessed. “That, it seems, is the lifeblood of a healthy and happy relationship.” 

They exchanged their goodbyes, the younger girls stuttering and repeating their goodbyes, clearly embarrassed and clumsy at the social ritual. Masara spared them the need to respond, nodding with another forced smile. 

It hurt to lie to them. Perhaps in another time, another universe, Masara was mentally healthy enough to offer them a fulfilling friendship. She couldn’t even manage that much with Kokoro, who bent over backwards to accommodate her obtuse behaviors. 

_ It’s time to end this,  _ Masara thought upon exiting the park.  _ If I can’t bring myself to break us up… If I’m too obsessed a personality to live without Kokoro, and Kokoro can’t force herself to live without me, then there’s only one thing I can do to save her precious life.  _

Masara’s ring became her sapphire-blue soul gem. Gripped tight against her breast, she shut her eyes of all sights and ears of all distractions. 

_ “Kokoro,”  _ she thought,  _ “are you there?”  _

It was a few seconds, then panting filled her brain.  _ “Masa-chan?!”  _ She sounded so surprised, shocked, hurt and hopeful all at once. 

_ One more pain, Kokoro, then you’ll be free of me forever,  _ said the twanging in her breast. Masara mentally continued,  _ “Kokoro, there is so much I want to say to you right now. Things I couldn’t talk about before but need to, more so now than I ever have about anything—”  _

_ “GAH!”  _

_ “Kokoro?!”  _

_ “S-sorry! I’m fighting a Witch, and she’s really—! Well, she’s strong but she’s also weird. She isn’t coming at me, or sending her familiars to attack. When I get close she goes nuts, but doesn’t pursue otherwise.”  _

That’s a chilling thought: a Witch that acted abnormally was more dangerous than your typically violent one. Already Masara was assuming Kokoro couldn’t handle it, but she didn’t care. Kokoro’s life was more important. 

_ “Don’t engage. Where’s the Labyrinth?”  _

Kokoro gasped wetly. Her glee was audible, her words came faster than they ever had before:  _ “I’m on the northern border of our ward, by the renovated strip mall.”  _ Masara tore down the street, startling passersby.  _ “You should bring your glasses, too, Masa-chan. This Labyrinth is… like, it’s  _ dark  _ but everything else in the distance is this shifty, cloudy white.”  _

_ “Don’t engage.”  _ She definitely knew this Witch, now. Rika and Ren, ranged fighters, were the only ones who could beat it 

_ “Please hurry.”  _ Kokoro gave an uneasy laugh.  _ “There’s this red-sun-obelisk-thing and I’ve no idea if that’s the Witch. I feel like it could do something at any second.”  _

No, it wouldn’t. But what it could do was break the defensive-Kokoro’s soul gem in one of its furious, jabbing barrages. 

It shouldn’t be a problem with Masara’s cloaking, and if Kokoro served as a distraction. Yes, it would be that simple: they would beat the Witch, Masara would share everything she feels and believes is right, for both Kokoro and herself. 

And after that, when all was said and done and Kokoro understood they could no longer be together, Masara would spare her the possibility of such a poisonous personality boomeranging back into her life. 

That is to say, Masara was going to take her dagger to her soul gem. 

It was the right thing to do, and because of that, Masara felt lighter than air. Finally, she would be giving back to Kokoro. And in a way, she only realized now, Masara would be suitably punished for all the times she hurt that girl. Though she didn't notice, her breathing to hard and heavy, Masara had started to run even faster. She didn't know why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zola and Cinderella are the actual names of Kaede and Rena’s Doppels, respectively. That detail about Witch’s names and how they become known is a headcanon of mine that will be revealed next chapter. 
> 
> Doppels, as you know, are a manifestation of the user’s emotions. Ergo, it makes sense to me that Zola, the embodiment of Kaede’s poor self-perception, gases the Labyrinth with noxious fumes in lieu of Kaede’s sentiments of “destroying everything she touches.” That's how I came to understand her attack in the game, anyway. 
> 
> Elsa Maria, like many of the Kamihama Witches, is not the original Witch but rather a Familiar who was bred into a full-fledged Witch by the Magius (thus why Gertrude’s grief seed in episode 11 lacks any distinct designs). 
> 
> Can you tell Rena and Kaede are my favorites?


	4. Kokoro's life doesn't revolve around Masara. The other way around, however...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squaring off against Elsa Maria brings out an interesting side in Masara.

The back of a dead-end alley pulsed with the breath of life, or so it felt. Potent, acutely heavy, even by Witches’ standards. And yet it was completely empty, save a broken television set, and was situated several blocks from steady foot-traffic. This same sensation, the exact same setup, was displayed before Masara several nights ago. Only then it was evening, and she had a couple leading the charge. 

It was almost like this Witch wanted to be away from everybody. Perhaps the magical girl she one was had been something of a loner. 

Pitiable creatures, these Witches. How would anyone find themselves here, unless this former magical girl detached the familiars from her body? 

The brick ahead melted and twisted together, glowing a pale grey—the bricks bleached and then dirtied again by this Witch’s very existence.

_ I’ll end your suffering and that of your potential victims. _With but a briefer thought, Masara willed her ivory silks into existence as she leapt into the Labyrinth. This time around, the proper noun was just the technical term for what amounted to a grey space with a single pathway. 

Kokoro’s silhouette spun around as Masara came to a stop, her posture tense, her blocky weapons spitting sparks in reaction. Finer details were murky, though her pain shone through in the almost-glowing whites of her eyes. 

Not a single drop of blood on her. Meaning Masara’s recent attack still left marks. 

“Masa-chan—” 

_ No more thinking. _ “You’re unhurt?” _ It’s time for combat. _

Stillness. A wary grunt. “She gives practically zero openings though.” 

Ahead, it was as remembered: a midnight strip of land that ended on a cliff face, boasting an obelisk to some sort of blood-red sun. Such a thing could have been the Witch. Rika Ayano thought so the other day and casually blew it to smithereens, only to rouse the lump camouflaged before it. 

Though she hated what came next, Masara set her eyes upon that same small mass, vying to get it over with.

And the instant her eyes fell upon it, the sight invaded her brain, wriggled its tendrils beneath her skull like so many worms, and ended quickly as it began. No magical girl ever found it pleasant, few seldom discussed the experience because there was nothing to say: glyphs overlaid the sight of her prey, an ancient unreadable language their magic somehow made decipherable. 

And it read, “Elsa Maria.” The glyphs blinked out, nothing more than momentary spots in one’s peripherals. 

“That’s her, right there.” Kokoro pointed with her tonfa. “Not the obelisk.” 

Masara nodded. “I’ve encountered this one before. Unfortunately I had a pair of ranged fighters with me at the time.” 

“Yeah, can see how that’d be helpful. I can’t get close to her at all. I shot at her with some electricity, but she didn’t seem to care. Any shot that came close enough was batted aside by this… this tree the came out of her back.” Kokoro’s sweet smile slid into view, bright even in the darkness. “But we can handle it! One of us just has to distract it.” She thumped her breast. “That’ll be me. I can take a hit! And you can one-shot it, just like we said earlier.” 

How could she so casually reminisce about the worst fight they’d ever had from just over an hour ago? 

“Masa-chan?” Kokoro’s head cocked the other way. “Are you thinking, or…?” 

Masara blinked, swallowed, remembered she had a plan. “Indeed,” she said. “We can. Handle it, that is.” Something made Kokoro giggle, straighten up as she scratched behind her ear with a tonfa. “This one is violent though. We must adhere to a plan.” 

“‘Violent?’ O-kay, interesting word choice. B-but I understand!” A stance was taken, her tonfa sputtered; she might _ think _she grasped Masara’s warning, but Kokoro also thought she knew what was best for her parents. She thought she loved Masara, and that their relationship was perfectly healthy. “Masa-chan, hello~” she teased, waving in front of Masara’s face. 

She lowered Kokoro’s hand. “This is not to be taken lightly. It’s unlike any Witch we’ve faced before.” 

“_ Every _ Witch is unlike the last. Maybe if you stopped being _ vague… _” There was an edge to her voice. 

Right? 

Or was she just nervous? 

“I don’t take anything you say lightly, Masa-chan,” said Kokoro, a mumble loudened by the utter silence of the Labyrinth. 

_ Then why on Earth are you even still around me? _Masara mentally shook her head. “Don’t underestimate this Witch, then. She’s violent and strong. Her familiars are a part of her body, and they’re hungry. The pair that I was with… one got a chunk taken out of her, the narrow instant she pushed her girlfriend out of the way.” 

Isuzu Ren’s scream was… unforgettable, and she wasn’t even the one trying to keep her guts within her body.

Masara emerged from the memories of crimson-stained shadows to find a nauseous Kokoro. “She’s okay, is she?” 

“They’re probably devouring one another’s mouths as we speak.” 

Kokoro doubled over, snorting into her tonfa-filled fist. “I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.” 

Masara could feel herself smirking; she was glad for the shadows. _ We can’t trick ourselves again. We can’t make this work. _Time to move on, in more ways than one: “You’re going to be on offense. I’ll be the bait.” 

“Wait, what? B-but I’m—!” 

“Not fast, and this Witch is faster than me. And though you’re durable, she takes no prisoners. She goes for the kill, or as well as she could considering what we are. It’d be easier if I play around with her, keep her on me while you charge with a defensive up. Don’t try and kill her with your own hands—your weapons are perfect for their punch. Send her flying off the edge, and she will die from the fall.”

Kokoro’s silhouette brought her feet together, her hands upon her heart. “You’re really scared of this Witch, aren’t you?” she mumbled. A kindly huff. “It’s no wonder you came for me.” 

“I’m not scared of the Witch.” Regret hit her before the heartfelt gasp followed: Masara wasn’t thinking, she hardly could nowadays when it involved Kokoro, it seemed. Just now, all she heard was an incorrect assertion, and her instinct incited correction for clarity’s sake. 

Kokoro had already understood her meaning, before such stupidity was uttered: “You’re just scared of me being hurt.” She was playful but quiet; she could read Masara like a book without even opening her now. “Regardless, thanks for coming.” 

Stupid Masara. She glared at Elsa Maria, away from the… that distraction who did all sorts of things to her. Masara started for the Witch. “Whatever you do, no matter what happens to me,” she said, the dagger’s handle filling her hand, her legs beginning to pump, “don’t you dare break from the plan. You hear me?” Elsa’s hair stirred, a dozen toothy maws rising. “Don’t you dare!” 

“Masa-chan!” 

The beastial heads lunged with soundless screams, Masara’s footfalls clapping in the void. She jumped over the first, spun around the second, ducked and swerved the rest. A wolf’s maw filled her vision, a bottomless pit. Half a heartbeat later Masara’s eyes widened, the other she was cocked aside, cleaving clean through its neck, making it one with the stifled air of this place before a crow’s head lunged, snapped where Masara’s right leg stood a second ago. She brought her foot down hard, her dagger, too. Masara vaulted off the familiar before it vanished completely. 

And she looked up. 

The swarm was coming back, Elsa far ahead praying to whatever the sun signified to her. “Kokoro?!” Masara ducked, dove, danced and slashed. She only got two. They charged again.

It had been less than ten seconds since Masara first charged. 

“You’re too damn fast!” The instant she saw a flash of yellow, bright even draped in shadow, Masara cloaked. 

The familiars screeched, turned for Kokoro. Masara reappeared several feet to the right before they could make any progress. They flew for her, and Masara pulled the rug out when they were inches away from biting her face off. She sprinted a short way right, running her knife above her, through the elongated necks throbbing overhead. Two vanished. The other dozen battered everywhere in a mad feeding frenzy. Masara could only dance around them, no time to counterattack. It was all about buying Kokoro some time. Kokoro, who was almost to Elsa Mari—_ familiars lashed wildly within Masara’s peripherals. _

Pain.

Blinding pain. 

Pain so bad Masara had never felt anything so poignant. The kind of pain she didn’t want to acknowledge and make real by looking but she had to because it hurt more than anything ever had and if she didn’t she would have never realized her right arm was gone.

It was gone.

The familiar who did this cut her clean through her upper arm. The sheer fabric encompassing it, detached from her now-missing elbow-length glove, sopped wetly against her stump, soaked in crimson. The blackness of this place was a cold comfort for hiding the gory details. 

Ahead came a strangled gasp, or perhaps it was herself and fading fast; Masara could only hear her own panting, feel her bicep burn wildly. Elsa Maria had stopped flailing. Kokoro was several feet further from the Witch than she was before, no longer advancing, and holding her tonfas before her in a shield against Elsa’s relentless barrage of familiars.

At least she wasn’t trying to prove her strength by taking the hits. 

Against her knees pain erupted, but duller than that of her arm: Masara was kneeling. She was clutching her stump. It burned. It burned so bad she wanted to cut it off. Where was her dagger? Was she holding it in her left hand or her right? Why couldn’t she make another? Make another, dammit, make another!

_ What happened? _ Masara had to focus on something, anything to take her mind off it. _ I was invisible. How could I let them—? _

Wait. There had been a flash of a familiar from the corner of her eye before. The Witch learned quickly, it seemed, started attacking with abandon. One got lucky. The evolving battle didn’t quite catch up to Masara before it was too late. 

“Masa-chan!” The tremulousness of her cry tore into Masara’s attention. Kokoro throbbed behind her tonfa-shield, sliding back, away from Elsa Maria. “She’s all on me! You can do it, I know you can!” 

This wasn’t the plan. But clearly it was half-baked from the start. A growly voice rose amidst the battering of machinery: “Stay strong. It’ll be over soon!” 

That came from Masara. Somehow. Whatever that was, it got her on her feet, replaced the stump in her bloody hand with a new dagger, and sent her charging past Kokoro. Masara felt her right arm pumping beside her. It weighed a million pounds. It hurt to exist. But Elsa Maria will die, and Kokoro will be safe. Forever.

“Wait, what’re you—?” Kokoro’s voice faded in and out, passing by. “What’re you _doing?!_ _Why are you visible?!” _

_ Wh-what is she—?! _ Something pinched her inside, hard. Masara ** _screamed. _ **

Her eyes, thoughts, pace; everything dropped like stones. 

All toward the familiar whose head was obscured, neck-deep in her belly, blacker than shadow. _ I should kill this thing, _suggested a notion, raising her dagger. 

And the beast tore out of her along with four feet of bright-red intestine.

It was decidedly worse than a stomachache. 

Masara ** _SCREAMED, _ **choked, spat molten copper down her chin, between her breasts. Kokoro wailed her nickname, Elsa Maria’s familiars charged as one silent army. 

It would be justice to end here. A dozen maws opened, filling the grey sky black. _ It would be justice to end here. _

A figure in shadowed yellow impeded Masara’s view with a sharp, metal trill. She grunted to every one, jerkin and jostling all in one instant. 

All seemed to freeze. 

Then the familiars rounded back, arcing upon her savior like a starved hydra. The song started up again, Kokoro whimpering, her entire form throbbing to the beat. It was constant, a racket, a banging louder than Masara’s own drumming heartbeat until there was a sudden shattering like glass. 

And Kokoro slammed into Masara. 

A gasp tore from her as they flew, a cry as her stomach’s wound flared like the sun itself pressed down upon her. She could see red trailing in their wake, deep and meaty. A gasp strangled Masara as the black floor smashed unto her spine. 

Kokoro laid on top of her, still without making a sound. Not even some panting. Nothing at all. Elsa Maria returned to praying. 

This was far from normal. 

Something moved Masara. When this registered she found Kokoro’s head upon her shadowy, blood-splotched lap, her one hand clasping both of hers by the fingertips. Heavy. A dead weight. Kokoro wasn’t moving. Her face was set. Still. Was she breathing? The soul gem at her belt buckle was gone, the skirt it cinched around her hips somewhere lost. 

_ No. _

Her soul gem was gone. Masara heard glass breaking before. All because Kokoro got in the way. 

She got in the way because Masara fucked up. 

And Masara fucked up because she herself was fucked up. 

She was fucked up so bad and Kokoro never cared. 

She just didn’t. 

Because she loved Masara despite her being so clearly fucked up.   
  


“You weren’t supposed to do that,” uttered a cold, dead voice. 

Masara. 

It was Masara, she was talking to a corpse. How illogical. 

“Kokoro…” 

Her calm disposition became harder to make out, to make sense of, the details melting together in some eye-burning mess. Was this a magical girl falling into despair? Was that what was happening to her? 

“Kokoro, you…” She jumped in front of Masara. She didn’t listen. Or she did but she didn’t care. She cared more about being with Masara than she ever did about enjoying her own life free of such a mess. “You… you _ damn fool! _You damned fool, Kokoro!” 

It was pointless saying it. But it felt so right, even if the “why” of it escaped her. 

“You damn fool, why did you do that?” 

Because she cared. 

“Why did you do this to me? Why do you do _ everything _to me, I don’t understand?!” 

Because she loved Masara Kagami. 

“You never made sense, you’re the most illogical person I ever could’ve met!” 

Kokoro didn’t care though. She never did. Not about what was easy, or better for her mental health—her very wish proved that if nothing else. 

“Why do you _ always DO THIS?! _” 

Kokoro was dead. 

“Why do you _ always _ have to throw yourself into my _ ridiculous decisions _ as if your life didn’t matter? Are you really suicidal and you just don’t care, is that what you feel?” 

Her throat burned, but Kokoro was dead. 

She was gone. Forever. 

“No matter how terrible I was, _ you ALWAYS kept COMING THE HELL _ ** _BACK!_ **” 

_ ‘No.’ _ Masara jerked upright. A new voice, but no one was around. _ ‘She didn’t kill herself, and you know it,’ _ the soft voice purred. _ ‘She died because of you. Because you didn’t care. Because you only ever cared about yourself, your own satisfaction, never caring about how other people might feel.’ _

“Stop.” 

_ ‘You’re a bonafide SOCIOPATH! You only kept Kokoro around because she was the one thing to make you feel! You NEVER cared about who she was!’ _

“That’s not true!” 

_ ‘Kokoro’s only here because of you.’ _

_ ‘Everything you do ends up hurting her.’ _

_ ‘You’re a cursed magical girl.’ _

_ ‘You should make like your emotions and just stop existing.’ _

_ “Please just leave me alone for once!” _But the burning in her chest flared, brighter than the desire in her heart, hotter than the hole in her stomach. 

And Masara’s mouth filled with something wretched. 

____________________________________________

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. 

I don’t know who I am. But I know I’ve spent my life heeding these tenets. 

See no evil—for any I behold would be too incomprehensible to comprehend, and that would in turn fill me with evil. 

Hear no evil—for subjecting myself to normal, evil company would make myself the bad guy, because I could _ never _understand what they do. What they live by. I cannot understand evil, therefore, I’m viewed as something wicked to be cast out. 

Speak no evil—even attempting so would hurt evil, innocent people with my lack of experience and understanding. 

And yet, all three of these tenets are based upon such sinful sentiments:

See—envy. 

Hear—anxiety. 

Speak—fear. 

Envy. Anxiety. Fear. 

I am, despite my efforts, just as evil as the world I’ve tried so hard to shut out. 

I’m filthy. 

A broken thing. 

I know I’m evil, but I’m not. If I was, then all my efforts and struggles would be in vain. And that can’t be. 

It can’t be! 

_ IT CAN’T BE! _

_____________________________________

Jozlyn, Masa-chan’s doppel, screamed. 

Its many pale hands had unclasped its head suddenly, stretching out in a sort of cone pointed towards Elsa Maria, and then _ screamed _. She screamed a horrific, mournful sound, neverending, filled with more pain than Kokoro had ever known in her life. And it was all coming out of Masara, literally exploding from her very soul personified. 

There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she would leave Masa-chan’s side after seeing this. 

It screamed so long and so loud that the air of the Labyrinth rippled; that Elsa Maria writhed, wriggling like some wicked thing in its last throes of life; that blood burst from the sides of Masara’s head, otherwise hanging like a dead fish, hooked by the mouth from Jozlyn’s white, yarn-spun ponytail. 

She screamed so loud that Kokoro’s teeth rattled, breathing became even harder than it was before, and suddenly, thankfully, the screeching dulled to a comfortable ring… a single, long ring. Wet warmth tickled her ear canals. 

And then, the ringing stopped. Jozlyn vanished. Elsa Maria, her Labyrinth, crumbled to nothingness. Derelict buildings boxed the orange sky straight above, and Kokoro willed her magic to immediately fix her ears, only for her concentration to shatter suddenly as Masara landed where Elsa had jabbed her in the womb.

Kokoro wasn’t one to cuss. But she did—loud. She couldn’t help the deep, broken cry that followed. Even she couldn’t take a boot to the baby-carrier. This seriously fucking sucked.

It fucking _ sucked _. Without a doubt their worst fight ever. 

A silver lining bled in warm—the afternoon air of early summer, and the distant chatter of people. 

They were both alive to fight another day. 

“You’re still alive.” It sounded like an observation. To any who didn’t know Masa-chan, it could have been one. 

Despite her hoarseness, both their throats raw and burning from all the screaming, Kokoro heard the emotion tight in her delivery, felt the shallowness of her breathing pressing down on her. 

It most certainly did not feel good where Elsa Maria hit Kokoro, but the pain was easier to bear knowing this was the closest she’d ever been with Masara. 

“Kokoro?” Awe, the concern in her mumble. She really did care. She always had, of course, but it was always nice to hear proof. “How are you alive? Your soul gem…” 

Blinking, it suddenly hit her in the heart: Masa-chan truly thought Kokoro had died protecting her. It would be an understatement to suggest she’d never forget that feeling when she believed that. 

“Masa-chan,” Kokoro wheezed, and her belly pinched and twisted. She hissed through her teeth. “My soul gem’s here… below my chin.” 

Masara lifted her head, her chin caked sticky in crimson. Otherwise, she looked as bored as ever observing Kokoro’s ascot, her little green soul. Masara laid her head back upon Kokoro’s bosom. “I never paid attention to that stuff,” she explained. “I… panicked.” 

Jozlyn’s towering, marble form flashed forth, blotting out the sky. Kokoro blinked the vision away. “That’s an understatement.” 

“Why weren’t you breathing?” Masara demanded, her hand… that’s right, she had only one right now… clenching the mesh fabric of Kokoro’s bodysuit, near her kidney. “You weren’t moving or anything. How are you up if you were unconscious?” 

“I _ was _unconscious, Masa-chan. Or close to it. I blacked out for a couple seconds after the Witch knocked me back.” 

“You should have answered me.” Her hand loosened. Her voice softened: “I thought… you… you heard what I said.” 

Yes. Every word. Kokoro was still wrapping her head around it, but neither of them were in a state to talk about anything emotional right now. 

“Sorry for scaring you,” she said. “That Witch smashed me in the womb. Or close to it… Knocked the wind out of me, putting it lightly.” She chuckled, was pinched where it was still tender, and whimpered. “Shit,” she gasped. 

Shit indeed. With the state Masara was in now… 

Kokoro grit her teeth and heaved, sitting up, gathering Masara’s surprisingly light form within her arms. 

“Kokoro,” she said, raising a hand. 

“I’ll be fine,” Kokoro lied through her toothy smile. “But you’re short an arm and a couple feet of entrails. This’ll take you at least three months to heal normally.” She sprung into the air, Masara grunting as she was jostled. “Sorry. Just bear with me, it’s quicker this way,” Kokoro cried, landing on a rooftop, sprinting, and jumping to the next. “Mitama-san will tweak your magic and quicken the process. You’ll be good as new in time for class tomorrow!” 

Three rooftops passed along with any hope of further conversation before Masara whispered once again: “How do you know all this?” 

“Because even with my boosted defense and healing factor, I’ve lost a limb or two before! It happens in this line of work!” 

She glanced down. Masara’s eyes were closed, her brows knitted. She was matted in sweat and the blood on her chin had begun to brown and flake. 

A couple rooftops fell away beneath Kokoro’s feet. Masara mumbled, “I don’t… ‘member any of that…” 

Kokoro had to chuckle. “You’re an important part of my life, Masa-chan, but that doesn’t mean it revolves around you!” 

“Good…” A deep inhale, exhaling, “Glad to… hear… that.” 

_She's glad... Just the fact that she is and realizes it... _Kokoro couldn't think, her stomach was screaming at her. 

Lucky Masa-chan was unconscious by the time she busted into the Coordinator’s. She's _really_ lucky—it’s not fun having a whole limb regrow at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jozlyn
> 
> The Doppel of Passion. Its form is a statue. The master of this emotion denies its existence to the bitter end. When summoned, this Doppel will immediately shut itself off from the world, covering its eyes, ears, and mouth with its many needy hands. They are all used in the effort, leaving it unable to do more with its life. Its emotions burst out inevitably, bringing harm to those unfortunate enough to be close to its master. Repeated use of this Doppel risks its master losing the ability to ever feel again.


	5. Love is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kokoro, aching and tired in more ways than one, finds a situation not unlike her own at Mitama's.

Kokoro went for the door-handle, but Masara's calm countenance was in the way, twisted like it’s never been before—in agony. 

Because Kokoro was so stupid and weak. 

Now, every second, she was in agony. She had been for a week. Possibly even longer—that Doppel weaponized its mistress’s pain, obviously such things didn't sprout up out of nowhere. Masara must be dreaming of such awful things this very moment. 

Kokoro ought to move her damned legs already. 

_ This is going to be embarrassing. And rude, _said a familiar voice, unusually small. But then she saw the hole in Masara’s stomach, the upper arm whose blood flow she must have unconsciously sealed with magic, but not enough to render it anything more than a gory tree stump. 

The rest of Kokoro’s judgement flooded with horror screams, her sight the towering angel Masara had become. 

Pain tore fresh across her entrails: Kokoro’s foot had lifted on its own, and she let it fly into the rust-pocked doors, blowing them open with a squeal ringing sharp into the air of the derelict foundry. Kokoro gasped, collapsing forth on said foot, her gut burning. The angry red pain in her belly wasn’t real—she had to tell herself—splitting her open like that of the wet warmth snaking down her forearms, seeping into the fabric of her bodysuit. Cloying and hot, it reeked of death. 

That was Masa-chan. 

It was like she was dead. 

A groaning startled Kokoro’s left flank, a crash cracking against her nerves half a heartbeat later. The suddenness startled her in its direction, the leftmost door laid across the ground, its hinges a fringe of silver splinters. 

Shoot. _ I’ll fix that ASAP. _

Kokoro dashed for the stairwell. Ascension gave way to a familiar sight: candles lit all about, rollable privacy screens stretched behind a row of chairs acting as the waiting area, a gothic stained-glass window shading the quarters midnight blue. To the left lay a simple bedspread beside a renovated kitchenette, the sight of which invoking many a horror-meal for the briefest of instances. 

A sickly little ache joined Kokoro’s bruising innards. 

“Sh-she’s busy,” the shadows squeaked, surprising. “Coordinator-san. We were here first, so you gotta wait… Sorry.” 

Kokoro searched the darkness, found a small form hunched over in the waiting area’s shadows: a grim countenance half-shrouded in blue. She was a small, skinny little thing. Some curves but not quite developed—no older than thirteen, clearly. Blonde with twintails, overall shorts with a purple shortsleeve. That’s right, Kokoro recalled, she was from the Magius affair. And quite louder then, too. 

The berserker with a warhammer, Felicia Mitsuki. One of the strongest magical girls in Kamihama, at least in terms of raw power. She said nothing as Kokoro took a seat at the end. Instead, she scooted to the farthest chair she could.

Ouch. 

“Y-you smell like my friend.” Felicia's eyes were ahead, gazing someplace not even in front of her. “Nothing personal.” She wrung her hands. 

A similar accident, then. Kokoro was able to breathe, for once having found common ground with a popular, famous girl._ If only this were school. _ “It’s an awful thing,” she said, “watching this happen to someone you care about.” 

Ivory silks had become mostly crimson. Masara’s head lolled back, and Kokoro was the fool not making sure she had been comfortable upon arrival—it had been that hard to think about. Jostling, Kokoro nestled Masara in the crook of her arm, beneath her bust. 

At her back, muffled by the screen, Kokoro heard, “That’s it, Yachiyo-san. You can let go now-” Mitama gasped softly. “Oopsie. I’m so bad at this. Okay, just keep holding the halves of her chest cavity together…” A stapler, like an actual office stapler, crunched wetly. “Ah,” Mitama exhaled as if that were an effort on her part, “alright. Nearly done. Keep her closed this time so the skin doesn’t tear again.” 

“Mitama, _ please… _” 

_ What the hell? _Kokoro thought, her fight-or-flight instincts screaming as Felicia Mitsuki moved—she laced her fingers tight, into a fist as though in prayer. And then, “Especially…” Her throat’s silhouette bobbed. “‘Specially sucks if you’re the one who did it,” she whispered. 

_'If you're the one who...' Oh, goodness._ From Tamaki to Yui, the family of Mikazuki magical girls were renowned as a good, selfless lot, especially for having united a small army to repel the Magius and Walpurgisnacht. Harm coming to any of them, especially from one of their own, felt like some great tragedy. Simply wrong. 

“You mean you… hurt your friend?” 

A rueful chuckle. “Naw. I’m not _ that _ f—” Felicia winced, threw her gaze to the curtain behind her, resumed hunching. “I’m not that ‘effing’ dumb... _ stupid, _ idiot, fucking _ fuck FUCK _ ** _IDIOT!_ **” she screeched, knocking her temples with every word.

Suddenly, almost directly behind them: _ “Cuss like that again, Felicia, and you could forget about dinner, too!” _

Harsh and hellish, like a mother borne fury incarnate. Kokoro couldn’t recall being on the receiving end of such a tongue-lashing, though her father was at least twice a week. She turned away from the screen, instinct driving her to exchange reactions with the teen, only to find her ogling the gutted shell that once housed Masara Kagami’s soul. 

Felicia’s gaze flickered up to Kokoro’s and whipped away, her lips pursing. They were done, not that they had much to begin with. 

_ Don’t you dare feel disheartened. You’re just trying to distract yourself from the responsibility in your arms. _Kokoro couldn't help but reflect on everything that happened, from her emotion-charged fat mouth blurting out that confession, to the questions and heartbreaking conclusions Masara had sought as a result, to the huge monster she became—a personification of her efforts to understand, her frustration in failing to do so, and her grief in the perceived pain she’d inflicted upon Kokoro. 

_ Why? _ she thought to the parted lips, the pale complexion, the small wheezing face tucked within her. _ Why do you do this instead of trust me to make my own choices, live my own life? Why are you so afraid when the going gets tough? _

Though it was shitty and selfish, Kokoro wanted more than anything to convince Masara that a romantic relationship with her would, in essence, be no different from their friendship now. Good and bad, they’ve stuck through it all for well-over a year now, almost every single day. In a way, Masara was blowing this out of proportion, but in another, Kokoro had been too scared of a negative result—like the present—to explain herself properly. She was a fool to hope, to think for even a moment, that her confession in the alley would go forgotten and ignored.

_ I… really am pathetic. _ Masara’s face seemed to melt—her knitted brows, tightened lips, her silently flaring nostrils all blurring together. _ I like to think that I’m strong, that I can shoulder anything, but… I’m just not. _

_ I just ignore what I feel - stuff it down, pretend nothing’s wrong for the sake of my loved ones. I’m no different from Masa-chan in that regard… _ The end result of her choices now laid heavy and bleeding in her arms. Kokoro really only had herself to blame for most of this. _Maybe Masa-chan was onto something when she called our relationship unhealthy… _

Soft footsteps pattered into Kokoro’s reflections, punctuated by a soft-spoken, “Oh, my!” above her shoulder. She found Mitama Yakumo pinching the fabric of a medical mask down her chin, her dainty white gloves soaked with enough blood and viscera to leave a red smear—that’s right, there were some chunks there drying between her fingers. 

A sweet smile contrasted the horror of Mitama’s appearance. “Yet another gored cutie has found themselves in my humble abode. My, my! You ladies really need to be more careful in battle. This sort of healing takes a lot out of poor old me!”

In a funny way, that right there was a microcosm of Kamihama’s dear Coordinator and her insincere pleasantness. At least, that’s sort of how Kokoro always felt. It was impossible to read her, but it was doubtful that Mitama gave an honest damn about any of her customers. 

Still, she was under no obligation to do so, especially as a magical girl. _ Especially _as a magical girl. And in this instance, Kokoro was the rude one.

“I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “You must be tired, and annoyed to see us—dropping in unannounced.” 

“Aw, no worries! It’s part of the job.” 

She didn’t say Kokoro was wrong. “Um,” she stammered, moving to stand, “Masa-ch—r-_ra_, Masara, she got hurt really—” A glistening red glove erected inches from her nose, whiffing the strong scent of death in her direction. 

Mitama’s smile saddened as Felicia rose, her eyes on the ground. “Is,” she squeaked, “i-is Iroha gonna be alright?” 

Mitama sighed, crossing her arms, bloodying her elbows. “She was always going to be, with her soul gem intact. I put her back together, but because the damage was so severe, and due to Yachiyo's lack of another full grief _ s’heed—! _” 

She was yanked into Felicia’s snarling face, the shorter girl on her tiptoes with tears in her eyes. “Who gives a flying fuck about your payment?!” Kokoro could only brace herself as Mitama’s hand inched for Felicia’s soul, her ring. “You’re tellin’ me it’s fine, just leaving Iroha hurt because you didn’t get your stupid—_AUGH-HAH! _” Felicia collapsed to her knees, massaging her ringed finger against her chest, eyes boggled and mouth agape, breast staggering with gasps. 

Mitama glared upon her, even though Felicia wasn’t looking. “Touch me in my shop again,” she uttered in a cold, vicious tone, “and you’re banned for _ life_. Interrupt me again before I finish _ speaking _ , and I’ll make _ sure _ you feel what Iroha-chan felt tenfold when you _ obliterated _her with your silly anger.” 

Felicia scowled upon the Coordinator, tears screening her hatred. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” 

“Actually, I do,” Mitama chirped, lacking her smile. “I experience your memories when I interact with your soul gems, remember? And I got another helping dealing with you just now.” Mitama shook her head. “My hope is that you finally learn from this experience - that your actions may have consequences you’ll regret forever.” 

“So… you _ knew _ .” Felicia shot up, and Kokoro was afraid she would grab the Coordinator again. “You knew all this time and never freaking _ told me! _ ” She cried out, yanking her twintails for dear life. Felicia snuffled, snarled brokenly. No, not a snarl - tears dripped from her jawline. “You _ knew _I killed my mommy and daddy, you—! You fucking bitch… Mitsuki Felicia...” Her forehead lowered into her palms, fingernails clawing through her blonde bangs. 

Mitama's throat bobbed as she swallowed. “My number one policy,” she said softly, “is not to make your business mine. The nature of my magic demands such privacy, no exception.” 

“Just… just shut up,” Felicia wept, turning away as she knuckled her eyes. “I don’t wanna hear that right now.” 

“I understand.” Mitama waited a moment. A moment in which she knitted her brows at Kokoro, glancing at the girl in her arms, before returning to Felicia as she scrubbed her tears away. 

“Before,” Mitama continued, softly, “I was explaining how Yachiyo doesn’t have another grief seed. Which means I can’t give free service if I wanted to.” Felicia whirled, inhaling, ready to object as her ring flashed into a purple, egg-shaped crystal. A blood-soaked glove rose faster. “She wants you to reflect on the result of your actions,” Mitama cooed, somewhat sharply, “so, no, you will not look for a grief seed as some kind of ‘band aid solution’ to your consequences. You will spend a night without Iroha under the same roof or sitting at the dinner table, never forgetting that you’re the cause of her absence. Yachiyo’s words, not mine,” she added, winking. 

Felicia stood there, dumbfounded. Everything—her shoulders, fists, tension—collapsed into limpness. “I _ hate… _” she growled, sighing with defeat, “everything.” 

Mitama tutted. “It is a shame Yachiyo didn’t have another grief seed. She wants Iroha better just as much as you do, but teaching this lesson is a greater priority in her mind.” Mitama glanced over. Kokoro, realizing what was implied, nodded once—though having forgotten to check the alley for Elsa’s, Kokoro had claimed another grief seed before... things happened. “Normally, for friends, I’d push myself to my limit for their sakes. However, my Doppel might emerge and bring gruesome harm to Iroha-chan. Ergo, I’ll have her stay the night and let the stitchings close naturally.” A light titter. “Or, at least, as natural as can be for girls like us.” 

Felicia didn't look to her, only moved to embrace herself. Mitama tilted, announcing sympathetically, “Yachiyo’s asleep in the back.” She flicked her head to the screen behind her. “She will be home, but later. She’s having Tsuruno bring back takeout from Banbanzai.” 

Felicia’s expression curdled. Kokoro wondered if it was because the food there was really that mediocre, or it was the prospect of facing Kamihama’s “mightiest magical girl” after what she’d apparently done. 

The girl embraced herself. “M’not hungry.” 

“Neither am I,” Mitama uttered low, a little green in the cheeks. Kokoro kept a proverbial ‘Me three’ to herself, and her eyes off the blood caked upon Masara’s chin, painting her chest. 

“Um.” They both turned to Felicia, facing away toward the stairwell. “You think I could see Iroha before I go?” she muttered quickly. 

Mitama didn’t hesitate. “If you think you got the stomach for it, I don’t see a problem.” 

Felicia whirled, disgusted but curious. “I thought you… y’know… fixed her?” 

Sighing, the Coordinator rubbed her temple, uncaring of the stain it left behind. “As well as I could. I’d never fixed damage this thorough before, and I’m certainly not a medical student. Simply put, I had to staple her back together to mend the worst of it. It’s an ugly job, but this will help the nerves and tendons reconnect within the next several hours. We’ll use Yachiyo’s only spare grief seed to purify Iroha in her sleep. It’s half-full, but she won’t unleash her Doppel whilst unconscious.” 

Felicia fell back a step, tugging the collar of her shirt. “I’ll,” she began hoarsely, swallowed. “I need to see her,” she finished strong, even as her dusty knees wobbled, and her conviction quivered. 

Mitama stepped aside, raising both hands as if presenting a prize and not a butcher’s shop. Felicia jogged forth, rounded the screen. Definitely made of stronger stuff than Kokoro, although, if it was Masara on that table instead...

“I see Kagami-chan needs help in more ways than one.” Kokoro snapped out of it, finding the Coordinator’s sad smile. “I can’t help but feel my guidance led her to make such costly mistakes.” 

Kokoro heard this.

For the first time, she heard this.

She heard this, and suddenly Masara’s actions made sense—how she’d connected with a “magical girl couple” and joined them in a couple Hunts. 

Kokoro heard this, and understood. 

She understood now that Mitama had a role in all of this, and after just lying to that poor girl about “not making your business mine.” 

She understood Masara had accountability for the most part. Of course she did. 

And Mitama was only trying to help when, clearly, she had been asked for it. 

And yet… 

_ And yet…! _

“Then you helped Masa-chan come to the conclusion that… that isolating herself will make the two of us happy in the long run.” And yet, Kokoro had to let her know: about what this jerk had done, the pain Kokoro went through because of it. Someone had to know, anyone will do, and Masara was not in a state, nor position, to be that person this time. “She… is so bothered, by what she’s done this past week, what she found out and thinks because of that… that she… her…” 

It was so hard all of a sudden.

All of it—remembering, thinking, talking. Living. Standing. Being Masara’s friend, being ghosted by her. Everything. 

The ground rushed, smashing against her knees. She didn’t care. But she wouldn’t dare drop Masa-chan. Never. Kokoro held her closer, and let her mind scream like Jozlyn did before. 

Moments later, or perhaps in seconds, a heavy softness closed warm around Kokoro. The Coordinator’s long legs were in her peripherals, she was humming. It wasn’t her “weapon,” her mystic veil, but a green blanket. The one from Mitama’s bed. 

_ I really don’t get her. _That just made Kokoro feel worse, and in turn, louder. 

Suddenly, from the back of the shop, that same mature, angry voice snapped against the shop’s vastness: “‘Fine?’ Fine?!”

Kokoro gasped as her heart leapt, choked, and started coughing into the blanket. Mitama massaged the below her nape, more comforting than helpful. 

“Iroha got blown to smithereens, right before our eyes,” the voice snarled, “all because she tried to _ stop YOU _ from smashing the build site apart! You heard her, and instead of listening, you just shoved her aside! And don't you _dare_ try saying she should have known better than to try again!"

"I wasn't," came soft.

"You’re always like this when you get angry, Felicia, _ you always do this and I am DONE letting Iroha excuse it! _” 

Silence.

Yachiyo continued, “You can’t keep _ doing this, _Felicia! You can’t keep acting on your emotions like a child!” 

“I know.” 

“You can’t keep being selfish and irresponsible and learning _ nothing _ after making a mistake because ‘it turned out fine!’ That is _ grossly _immature, and dangerous to everyone around you!” 

“I said, ‘I know!’”

“What if Iroha’s soul gem was shattered?! Her death would have been all on _ you _ , and you would’ve _ NEVER _forgiven yourself!” 

_ “Shut up! I said I fucking know, that’s all I’ve been fucking thinking about!” _

_ “Then BE! _ ** _BETTER!_**_” _

Silence fell again, short-lived as a sniffle echoed sharp against it. A separate, mature sigh overlapped it. 

“Go home, Felicia.” She sounded like the Yachiyo Nanami that Kokoro remembered. “Take a bath. Reflect long and hard on what happened today, and what I’ve said. Don’t worry about homework, I’ll… do it for you when I get home.”

“Y-Yachiyo—” 

“But I want you to use that time to think—think really hard—about who you are and the kind of person you want to be,” she added harshly, though not unkindly. “I love you, Felicia. You’re one of the four best things to happen to me since Mel…” A soft, almost imperceptible sob, joined Felicia’s choking gasps. “I don’t want to lose any of you. And yet, I’ll have no choice but to override Iroha’s leadership for the sake of the team if you do something this insane again.” 

“I,” Felicia mumbled, “I don’t think I wanna be around anybody anyway. Never again—” 

“_No. _ No. No. Don’t think that way. Don’t quit, don’t run from your problems, or else you’ll never grow from them. Reflect for now, take this seriously, and most importantly, rely on your family. You _ will _be better. I know you’ll be… Come here, Felicia.” 

A huge wail began, but was quickly muffled. Kokoro had no issue conjuring up a mental image. Only in this silence did she realize both her and Mitama had been straining their ears to eavesdrop. Kokoro at least had the humility to feel hot in the face after realizing. 

Mitama was just staring at the floor, gazing a thousand miles into whatever their words incited within her. 

“Y-Y-Yachiyo…” 

“What is it?” breathed the veteran. 

“I-I love you, too, and Iroha, and Sana and Tsuruno, too.” 

A soft chuckle. “I know you do, silly girl.” 

Silence, but Kokoro knew from experience that Felicia wasn’t done before she squeaked, “Yachiyo?” 

“Yes?” 

More hesitation followed. Kokoro could picture the two in each other’s arms, tense with anticipation as Felicia gathered the courage so few had when it mattered most. 

“I saw—! Um,” Felicia mumbled suddenly, “th-the Witch we fought, she showed me… that I… I… I was the one who… who made my Mommy and Daddy die.” 

_ “What?” _hissed Yachiyo. 

Felicia sobbed anew. “I know s’not a good excuse! I know,” she snuffled, “i’s not making it okay to have almost murdered Iroha, too!” Felicia coughed, Yachiyo tried to object, but Kokoro couldn’t hear past Felicia’s broken heart. 

“Breathe,” cooed the elder. “Breathe, Felicia.” A heavy sigh. 

Heaving gasps resounded, collapsing into greater sobs again and again and again and again. Heart wrenching, Kokoro could hear Yachiyo’s own twist in the way she chanted between Felicia's struggle, “There, there. I’m here, _ I’m here, _I’m right here. I’m right here and I’m not going to abandon you.” 

“This isn’t the time nor place to discuss this, or obsess over it. You’re probably feeling so many awful things right now, compounded especially by what I’d snapped at you. Oh, _ Felicia _...” Yachiyo hushed her lovingly, a way Kokoro felt was just as much for her sake as it was for the girl’s. “We’ll discuss this. I promise you, we _will_ help you get through it—all of us, together. As a family. Do you hear me?” 

She might not have. Seconds passed. “Yeah," Felicia managed hoarsely. 

Kokoro realized she was squeezing Masara against her, the Coordinator standing above embracing her own self in turn, eyes wide with indecipherable emotion. It seemed even she, who always had a quip on hand, a carefree attitude to everything, knew not what to do. Interrupting this moment with their own conversation would shatter something Kokoro felt she had no right even being present for. 

After all, she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t acted on her emotions like Felicia. Masara had accountability, most of it to be sure, but that was still the simple truth of their situation. The root cause of it. Kokoro. 

“Alright,” Mitama ventured softly, her knees bending toward Kokoro, “I understand you have a grief seed?” Unable to find her voice, her throat too tight, Kokoro nodded—a lot. “Alright, good, good. And… strange question, but, you don’t happen to have her _ arm_, do you?” 

Kokoro’s stomach turned, and vertigo suddenly whammied her in the brain. “Uh… it’s, uh, wherever the Witch’s food goes when they die.” 

Mitama hummed, perturbed. The silence filled with muffled crying. “Okay,” she breathed. “Kagami-chan will have to stay the night unless you have a second seed.” Kokoro shook her head. “That’s not a problem. I was already consigned to spending the night here with Iroha, so, it’s really quite alright.” 

She sounded a little too excited by the prospect. “I will, too.” Kokoro shot up, snapping to Mitama’s startled eye level despite being three years her junior. “I broke down your door coming in here. I have to fix it.” A sorta-lie, and it didn’t feel sickening to tell; in fact, Kokoro felt free of the need for any pleasant pretenses. She couldn’t care less what Mitama thought of her now.

And so she looked Mitama Yakumo in the eye, and said, “I don’t want you molesting Masa-chan as she heals.” 

Mitama did something unexpected, and staggered back a step with a hand to her chest. “I would _ never_—” 

Lies, lies, she was always so damn fake. “You would and you probably have, at least that’s the impression you’ve given most girls by acting like a creep.” Kokoro shrugged. “Not like we can do anything about it—we kinda need you.” 

Instead of that spark returning to her eye, Mitama lowered it. “You don’t have to be so mean,” she mumbled. “I just like teasing you girls. You’re all so lovely.” She was dead serious as she said this. 

Or it seemed that way. 

You could never tell with Mitama. 

A small part of Kokoro wondered: why now, of all things, was _this_ what she was getting mad at? 

But the rest of her couldn’t care anymore. “Tell me, Coordinator-san, why the heck do you always sound so insincere?” It was actually kind of exhilarating. 

Mitama’s frown deepened. “That’s just my voice…” 

_ I’m sure it is. _Kokoro shook her head. Part of her weighed with regret, believing she had genuinely insulted Mitama. But that was assuming she had always been upfront about her feelings and intentions, and the rest of Kokoro had almost two years (too much) of Mitama’s pseudo-kindness to feel bad about her justifiable notions toward the Coordinator. 

She reaffirmed Masa-chan in her arms, supporting her back with a knee briefly enough to reach down her thigh and yank off her soul gem. The bracelet snapped like cheap jewelry against Kokoro’s strength, etching a red pattern in Masara’s flesh. Kokoro dropped her best friend and crush into the Coordinator’s unprepared hands. 

“I’m gonna go fix your door,” she said, turning away as Mitama fumbled a little. “And I’m taking Masa-chan with me. Oh, here’s the grief seed.” Kokoro reached into her satchel and tossed it back, never breaking her stride for the stairwell. “Let me know if you need anything. And… thanks, as always.” She was worthy of that much, but nothing more. Not right now, not with so much going on. 

Mitama said nothing, even if she needed Kokoro for something while she magically mended the shop’s front door. Unable to dwell on more than their tense exchange, Kokoro feared she was too harsh, too judgemental, and that the Coordinator would deny Masara service as punishment for her rudeness. 

But her fears ended up unfounded: Masara’s innards were beginning to fill again by the time Kokoro was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not over yet. I was halfway through what will be the next when I was nearing 7k words, so I'm splitting the final chapter. Next one will be the last, and it will involve Masara realizing some important things about love with Mikazuki's resident angel before confronting Kokoro and their feelings once and for all.


	6. ...it just shows that you care, Masara. Deeply.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroha reminds Masara too much of a certain someone.

____________________________________________________________________________

Masara was screaming at the top of her lungs. Or rather, that’s what she heard, inside her own head.

Then it was dead silent, and she finally felt once more: a nip in the air, sour with cleaning fluids. And instead of seeing red, everything was very, very blue. 

_ Wait, I’m… awake?  _ She rose like Frankenstein’s monster.  _ I’ve been  _ asleep _ ?  _ Before Masara could recollect, she was greeted by the actual science experiment run amok. 

Or rather, a pink-haired girl cosplaying as one. 

Young in stature, though in Japan that was hardly an indicator of age, and resembling a jigsaw puzzle some fool without a medical license stapled together haphazardly. Her pieces were in place, but the job was messy—bright red gouges bordering some staples told of freshly-mended flesh by way of piss-poor craftsmanship. Also, save for a single cloth laid across her lower delicates, she was naked. 

_ Of course. I’m at the Coordinator’s.  _ The blue gave it away, but if it didn’t, the insane sight before Masara would have confirmed this beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

She looked to the stained glass window on her right to get a sense of time. Glowering midnight-blue, the white of the moon gleaming part of the way down suggested it was well past that time. Beside the girl’s bed, her chair had a bag with something in it that reeked of mediocre Chinese food. 

Beyond her sleeping head, way in the back, tucked in the shadows lay the Coordinator, asleep in her butler’s dress with both hands folded on her stomach. No blanket. Rather, it was draped across a sleeping form to Masara’s left, distant and hidden in shadow as well.

Kokoro, her form rising and falling steadily with Masara’s heartbeat. 

Or it was. 

Now it was going too fast for Kokoro to keep up as everything came surging back: Kokoro having seemingly died, Masara’s idotic charge in plain sight, Kokoro having died, thinking Kokoro was dead, convinced that she killed Kokoro. Darkness. Screaming. Her chest exploding from the inside all the while, over and over, again and agai. 

Why she was still by Masara’s side like this, and on a school night no less, was up there with one of the most baffling things to cross her mind this week. 

She wondered this as a tightness in her chest echoed back to Kokoro having died, and it being entirely her fault. The tightness coiled beyond the point of physical agony, which was interesting; thinking Kokoro died because of her somehow hurt worse than any pain before. 

_ I care for her more than I do myself, if I’m understanding correctly.  _ Masara wished she herself was out cold once again, her chest filled to the brim with something rotten. Suffocating. And wholly reassuring. 

_ I feel like I’m suffering from a heart attack. One that can’t kill me because I’m a magical girl.  _ It was in the past, and they were both alive, she told herself. Masara still had a chance to make things right forever, too. 

_ ‘That’s it,’  _ sneered a familiar conscience.  _ ‘Harden your heart and let it forget your role in all of this. Nothing good ever comes from trying to act like a normal human being.’ _

It sounded so much like her base instincts that it wasn’t strange to hear it possess a particular voice of its own, one not unlike her own but warped and sneering. It felt right, like there was no arguing against it. After all, the latest result of her attempts at humanity lay hurt in many ways on a skeevy Mitama-sofa far from home.

Thrown down in a pile beside Kokoro were a pair of yellow booths, her gloves, and her zippable top, ascot and cap included. She didn’t bother changing out of her costume, meaning she never left. 

Meaning Masara didn’t dream what she had dreamed. It was all real, every last second. 

Yet even now a part of her doubted; she wanted it to have been a dream. 

The notion, everything that had happened and what she felt now, it was all so very… disgusting to comprehend. That was the best way to describe it—something truly wretched. Kokoro must have been appalled, placed on the receiving end of such a display; the “reason” for its being, because lord knows Kokoro would never blame anyone for anything that ever happened to her. It wasn’t fair. 

A gut reaction, briefly lived, blamed Kokoro’s parents for having inadvertently molded their daughter to boast such self-harming philosophy. 

An itch on Masara’s cheek, wet and warm, wasn’t scratched when she moved her hand to do so. Gazing down, she found what remained of her arm, although more of it was there than she remembered. She also remembered gawking at it like a fool, severed at the bicep. It had been hard to believe that that really happened at the time, a first in all her time fighting Witches. 

At least, now, she possessed over two inches from her elbow. 

The flesh was still exposed, not that it mattered to puella magi. Closer inspection showed nerves and tendons in the midst of reaching upwards, twisted together—growing, but invisible to the naked eye. Bone erected at the same pace, neither exceeding nor falling behind that of her flesh. Maybe it’s because the cut was so clean and even. Any sensation was nonexistent, thanks to the design of soul gems. 

Suddenly, pain flared within the flesh as though it happened then and there. Masara squeezed it, massaged her stump as if polishing a diamond. She was rigorous, but no avail. The burn permeated, devouring her entire arm like fire. It hurt the more she remembered, the more she recalled having put Kokoro in danger, nearly ending her life after a series of thoughtless decisions. 

Chief among them, of course, being the choice to fight Witches as if Masara were in the headspace to do so. 

_ Perhaps I’m more emotional than I thought.  _ Masara shook her head; that wasn’t right, didn’t feel right.  _ No. More than I’d like to admit. Far more.  _

_ I just don’t understand what I feel.  _

_ About anything.  _

_ Nothing at all.  _

Only that she cared about Kokoro too much for it to be healthy for the girl. 

“Oh! You’re awake now, too.” Masara blinking, finding the girl sitting up across from her, arms crossed over her chest. Despite her appearance, she was smiling like Kokoro, her scarred knees rising and embraced at half mast—all her limbs were uniquely patterned with staples, with some fingers outright reattached that way, yet moving like normal. “Thank goodness,” she continued at a whisper. “I’ve been up for a while now. It’s kind of boring, being a patient in a hospital.” Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Or something close enough,” she giggled. 

The mindlessly happy types were just as incomprehensible as tsunderes like Minami—a notion Masara immediately shook from her head.  _ I’m being judgemental without realizing it. She must have some reason for feeling so pleased in spite of her state. I’m just… angry. Or sad. Or jealous or something… I don’t know. I don’t know— _

“Hey.” She was pulled back to the girl’s soft, pink eyes. Her head was held higher. “You got a lot on your mind, it seems. There’s no need to force yourself to talk with me. I’ll go back to sleep, no worries.” 

Masara almost took up the offer. But the idea did not unappeal, and that’s what stilled her tongue. Talking, that is—though she couldn’t outright ask for what she wanted either. “How are you?” she asked instead, matching the girl’s volume. 

Gazing down the length of her arms, she said, “Surprisingly okay. And well-rested,” she added with a titter, reembracing her knees. She perked up promptly with an emotion other than tranquility. “Oh, forgive me! I know you, but I don’t think you know me. I’m Tamaki Iroha, it’s very nice to meet you properly.” 

“Iroha,” Masara echoed. “But you don’t know me beyond my name. How is it you’re aware of that much?” 

“Well…” Iroha gazed aside, embarrassed. “You’re right, that was forward of me. I should be saying I know  _ of  _ you: a distant magical girl who works with no one but Awane Kokoro.” 

“You’re a friend of hers?” The notion of Kokoro having other friends was… a comforting one. 

Iroha shook her head. “You both go to the same school as…” Her smile fell, hurt tore across her features. “As Felicia-chan,” Iroha breathed, touching her throat where her soul gem would probably be. The leg released collapsed, straightening in the bed. Iroha didn’t seem to mind her exposure, like most girls in one another’s company. 

Masara considered her next words carefully, an effort made easier the longer Iroha went without speaking. It made her emotional state more complex than initially thought, her initial happiness truly a shallow facade, like Kokoro’s had a tendency to be. 

Realizing this, Masara’s next words came clearly: “When I asked how you were doing, I was referring to your heart.” Iroha met her eyes, hurting still but sharp with understanding. “I know you’re doing fine physically. Such things are beneath our concern. Despite that, you don’t strike me as someone utterly unaffected after having been so thoroughly decimated.” 

“I wasn’t—-!” Iroha’s volume had jumped to normal volume, her soul squeezed within her fist. “I wasn’t ‘thoroughly decimated.’ I mean—y-you make it seem like something deliberate that took a couple blows. But it was one hit within one second, and that’s usually all it takes for something to take a wrong turn. You see,” she sighed, “my friend, Felicia, she… got angry. Not at me, but at something worse than Witches. As if she’d just founded the one who killed her parents, only, this was  _ after  _ we had beaten one at a construction site. The two of us and Yachiyo-san, that is.” 

There was only one logical explanation then. “That Witch you fought must have done something to her. Was it your typical beast, attacking like one?” Or was it like Elsa Maria, she wondered. 

“My little sister,” Iroha said into her knees. “The Witch was a computer carried by its familiars. She didn’t attack herself, not physically anyway. I can’t speak for the other two, but everywhere  _ I _ looked, I was shown the days where I’d blissfully lived my life without my Ui around. It… reminded me of how awful I felt after realizing she had vanished from existence, and I’d never noticed.” 

There was definitely a story there, but it wasn’t Masara’s to know, nor did she have the will to care. “Going by that, your friend must have seen something particularly triggering. Enough to send her in a blind rage and nearly kill you.” 

Iroha gasped sharply. “That’s… you’re  _ right _ . That  _ had  _ to have been—th-the only thing I can  _ think of _ is… Oh, goodness. Oh, poor Felicia. I hope some good came out of that pain, like the exact Witch who killed her parents.” 

Masara… couldn’t even think, let alone reply. She had lived her life seeing all manner of confusing, emotional reactions. But pity for the girl who nearly ended your life? Not even an ounce of anger? 

There was something wrong with this girl for sure. But it wasn’t Masara’s place to concern herself with it. “Unfortunate,” she said. “It’s not the aggressive Witches you have to look out for. Rather, it’s the ones who don’t come at you mindlessly that require the most caution.” 

“Is that… what happened to you?” 

Masara didn’t look up, her regrowing arm rising as proof. “Among other things.” 

Iroha gasped softly at her amputation. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t see, y-you’ve probably dealt with something far worse—” 

“Nothing that may ever befall me could be considered worse than if it happened to you or anyone else. That’s a fact you must accept if we’re to continue talking.” This usual admission left Iroha, like most people, speechless. Confused. Apprehensive with such naked honesty and disregard for the self. 

She must know that it was something of a front. Kokoro seemed to, and Iroha smiled like her, looked at Masara like she did. It was hard to stand the sight. 

“That’s what I’d like to believe, anyway,” Masara told her own knees, having at some point mirrored Iroha’s posture. “A lot of things bother me. Very specific, silly things girls like you are fortunate enough to already understand.” 

“Would... sharing them with me help?” 

“No.” Something in Masara answered for her, and it wasn’t the part of her that left Kaede and Rena, feeling comfortable with the offer Iroha was suggesting. 

“O-oh. Okay, that’s fine.” 

An awkward silence caused by Masara fell. “Long story short,” she ventured anyway, for the sight of Kokoro asleep wasn’t making her feel any better, “an encounter with a Witch brought out an ugly side of me as it did your friend. A side that had no business harming Kokoro, and yet it always had. And… I still don’t want to believe it’s done so. Even though I know for a fact that it did, acknowledging it just… makes it so hard to  _ breathe _ .” 

“That doesn’t seem so abnormal.” Iroha smiled, her brows knitting. “I think at some point, everybody does something that hurts the people they love. Not that that makes it okay, but I think it depends on the situation, what led to it, and the intention of the guilty party.” She flicked her toes together, again and again. “I’m,” she mumbled, “not going anywhere... if you wanna…” 

She was being quite nosy. Masara was no better, but if this girl wanted to be so curious, perhaps she would have no problem explaining her own behavior. “I’m curious as to why you hold no animosity for the girl who tried to kill you.” 

Iroha gasped, her brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, but first of all, Felicia-chan wasn’t trying to kill me. And second, I’m sure you have your reasonable preconceptions about Felicia, but you just don’t know her or what she’s been through. So, um, y-yeah, please don’t talk about her like she’s an evil person.” 

“Fair. Objectively speaking, however, is killing you by accident really any better?” Kokoro’s soul gem—her belt buckle rather—shattered in the distance. Now more than ever, Masara’s heart felt unwavering in regards to her feelings on Kokoro: “If it were me in her shoes, I’d sever all ties in order to protect those around me. I’m certain she has her reasons for being the way she is. We all do. But an incident such as this is more severe than a simple mistake. It risked your life.” 

Iroha never took her eyes off Masara as she threw her legs around the bed. She stood, turned, half her body, her scowl, and a tight, trembling fist—all cast in blue. “Please,” she said tersely, “don’t mistake my forgiveness of Felicia-chan as naivety. I know better than you how troubled a girl she is, and she’s  _ not  _ being let off without a punishment.” Her tightness sprung into shock, a realization coming as she touched her cheek, muttering, “Yachiyo-san probably chewed her ear off, I didn’t think of that. Oh, I hope nobody back home is worried about me.” 

This dynamic still seemed about as unhealthy as Masara’s and Kokoro’s. It was never her place to question or guide others, but… this girl was too much like Kokoro. “You keep with someone so troublesome. Even though you’d be dead now if we were still human. Your forgiveness may come off as concerning to some.” 

Iroha folded her arms across her skinny chest. “It’s precisely because she’s troubled that I choose to forgive Felicia-chan. But it’s more than that. She’s my friend, and I’m hers. We’re like family, all of us at Mikazuki Villa.” 

She meandered towards the window, drinking in its design while showing off the stapled vines running like train tracks across her body. “The day we met—,” said Iroha, stilling before the stained glass. “Well, it was under less than normal circumstances, even by magical girl standards. But on that day, I got many different looks into Felicia-chan. I saw her wearing clothes a bit too small and childish for a thirteen-year-old. I heard her story, how she was orphaned because of a Witch. I saw her actions, the choices she made that day, good and bad, and realized she wanted nothing more than a loving family again. Revenge, I saw, was not what mattered most. At the bottom of all Felicia’s hatred was nothing more than heartbreak, and her lashing out at the pain.” 

“Just like me.” Iroha pivoted on her heels. Masara realized it was she herself who spoke, and nothing felt more right this past week, even as she recalled the piercing scream that had whispered her heart’s truth when she thought Kokoro had died. “I suppose it is, yes,” Masara continued, Iroha turning fully, hands clasped like in prayer. “All my life… I tried pretending my problems weren’t important to me. But they are—they bother me so much and I… I dislike them, I think. Immensely. Because if I truly didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here now. That much is certain.” 

Over on the sofa, Kokoro shifted—tightening into a ball beneath her blanket. 

“I don’t want to make anyone have to contend with my problems,” said Masara. “Even if they hate me for it, I won’t let them.” 

“You…” Iroha started. She was returning to the bed across from Masara’s. “Before, you said Felicia ought to do the same. But is such a thing really so easy—letting go of the first person to fully embrace you for who you are?” 

“No. It isn’t. It should be, but it isn’t.” 

“Should be?” 

“It has to be. Otherwise—” 

“Otherwise,” Iroha realized, “that would make you selfish.” 

“And if I’m selfish…” Masara sighed, explained, “I’ll lose objectivity if I give in to my desires. I’d convince myself to maintain my selfish behavior, to proceed with harming others the way I inevitably do. For the sake of our special people, I feel we have to make a hard sacrifice for all our sakes at one point or another. And this is mine.”

A chuckle rose up across from her. Iroha was leaning back against the bed, her shoulders throbbing and lips muffling her volume. “That was kinda sweet until you reminded me of another friend of mine. She was doing the whole ‘woe-is-me martyr’ act, too, until I knocked some sense into her.” 

How impertinent, but admittedly intriguing. “Share: how is it that you changed her convictions? With a single conversation?” 

“It was a little more involved than that,” said Iroha, flushing. “Long story short, she believed isolating herself for our safety was the best course of action. She had no idea how badly that hurt me, though, and she still doesn’t if we’re being honest. Because I finally had something like never before—something I can be a part of and believe in. All of us who came under her wing did. Then out of the blue, she decided to cut our hearts out of hers and demanded we do the same in turn!” Even Masara could hear the pain as her whispers turned to hissing. “A-anyway, rather than listen, I decided to prove her fears wrong. At the time I had no idea if I’d be okay or not, but I wanted to save her soul more than preserve mine. I wasn’t alone, though, in changing her mind. We, all of us in Mikazuki, had inadvertently laid the emotional groundwork—she was really warming up to us without realizing it for herself. This friend of ours can’t help but want people in her life. So it’s not like I was a miracle worker or anything, or that I said the right thing at the right time,” Iroha giggled. “I just did what I felt was right because my friend was hurting, and that wasn’t acceptable.” 

Masara could almost hear Kokoro saying these words right now, her imagined, kindly disposition as she asserted her beliefs raking chills down her arms. Odd sensation. Massaging them, Masara said, “What if I—or rather, this friend of yours, insisted on cutting you out for the sake of your well-being?” 

Iroha smiled, then hummed thoughtfully—she absolutely caught that slip of the tongue. “Well, I’d insist myself upon her in return. I’d not care if she ended up hating me. I cared about her too much to let my fear of pain rule me. The same goes for Felicia. Neither of them would have to acknowledge me, or even stay around me, but nothing would change the fact that I want to help them.” 

“You wouldn’t give up on them?” 

“Who knows? Everyone is capable of breaking down, I feel. Me, though, I like to think that I’d stick by them no matter what. If I didn’t, then that would imply our friendships meant nothing to me. And I know for a fact that that’s not true.” Iroha clenhed her fists, smirking. “At the end of the day, my feelings are mine, and I do what I want with them. Those girls have no right dictating that part of my life, and neither do you over Awane-san.”

This girl was, without a doubt, a respectable human being. It’s no wonder she had such strong bonds. Masara would like to be her if she had such a wish; now that she knew what it was like to belong, and to have someone who wanted you for you, she would have certainly changed her wish with Kyubey. 

Her boldness was still irritating to an extent. Out of context, this surprisingly bold girl would come off as forward and testy. But she spoke of all these personal, emotional investments as if she’d voiced them before, several times. Maybe to others, maybe in her head, solidifying her convictions. Even if she hadn’t, she still held herself as one having acknowledged and accepted the dangers both sides had exposing themselves to one another, and she chose to face them instead of pulling a Kagami Masara. 

Masara thought to herself, just how many magical girls mirrored her and Kokoro’s dynamic?  _ Perhaps it is not so hard to believe,  _ she wondered.  _ Perhaps symbiotic relationships are more commonplace than I thought.  _

“It still doesn’t seem safe,” said Masara. “You might break one another in more ways than one.” 

“Yeah,” Iroha sighed happily. “And you might get struck by lightning, a meteor, or a car just by walking out your door. Taking risks is part of life. If you don’t, then you’re just coasting along not doing anything.” 

“But I’ve tried everything,” Masara blurted out. Iroha didn’t need to hear this, she reacted. 

But roha would understand. And, upon reflection, Masara found herself uncaring of how manic her words sounded. “I’ve done everything, but Kokoro is the one and only thing that has made me feel something other than this suffocating tightness at the prospect of my own broken brain.” 

“K-Kagami-san—” 

“I don’t want to lose her, yet I know I can’t keep her—” 

“Why? Why is that?” Iroha asked desperately. 

“Because I’m a parasite.” The words were flying now, and Masaa didn’t dare reconsider. Something wouldn’t let her, even though she should. “Because I give her work and disappointment, or I surely will if we continue as we are.” She shouldn’t be saying this, making her problems Iroha’s, Rena and Kaede’s, Rika and Ren’s, Mitama’s, or Kokoro’s, or anybody’s. It was all she offered and it was poison. 

“Your perspective has put hers in a new light, to be sure,” said a noisy feeling from within. “But it just makes me want to refuse her even more. I don’t want to lose her—in any way, though. And yet I… I’m  _ irritated  _ that she did this to me. I’m irritated by the strange way she is, always so self-sacrificial for no good reason. And yet the thought of losing that drives me to ignore Kokoro’s very real issues, or justify them by excusing her behavior in some shape or form. That it’s ‘normal.’ But no, it’s not normal to suffer for no benefit. It’s all I can do to just push her away, before it gets worse down the line and we hurt each other even worse then than I will tomorrow.” 

‘Hurt.’ 

Yes, that’s right. 

Losing Kokoro would… it would hurt, more than anything ever had. The sheer notion of it made Masara’s airways tighten, so much so that a strangled noise shuddered against the cavernous depths of Mitama’s shop. 

“Kagami-san—”

“I… I think I’m obsessed with her,” she heard herself saying, seeing and feeling nothing else but Kokoro’s presumed corpse, and the rotten fire which ravaged her amputated limb. “I never felt this way before, and it’s surely because of my obsession.” 

“Kagami-san.” 

Masara threw her legs around the bedside. “I-I need to leave now—”

“Masara!” Iroha hissed. 

She looked over, finding the girl perched at the end of her bed, her small underdeveloped form trembling with exertion—-implied by the sweat on her stitch-bisected brow, her labored breathing. 

“Hear me out… please,” Iroha added pitifully. “You don’t have anything more to lose if you’re going this far already.” 

This girl… “Why do you care?” Masara snapped coolly. 

Iroha sat on her heels, hands on her lap. “Because... I care about people.” She giggled. “That’s a bad answer, I know. But it’s as simple as that.” 

Masara couldn’t see why. She shook her head. “You don’t need to justify yourself further. There’s no better reason, assuming that’s the truth.” 

Iroha blushed, smiling as she looked away. “And I think that… that Awane-san does, too. I always hear about how kind and helpful she is.” 

Masara scoffed, this girl knew nothing. “It’s clearly a byproduct of her upbringing. And not in a rosy kind of way.” 

“I think that applies to just about everybody.” Despite her chuckle, her wishy-washy word choice, Masara knew this girl now to be ironclad in her convictions. Just like Kokoro. “It’s still the person she became instead of someone all twisted and bitter. Did she really have a bad childhood in that case?” 

“Besides,” said Iroha, gazing at Kokoro’s quickly-breathing form, “what gives you the right to judge the kind of person she is?” 

“I don’t make it a habit of judging people—” 

“Maybe not, but you still form opinions, have gut reactions.” Iroha smirked. “Don’t lie. You clearly have emotions.” 

Masara considered her words. They were nothing new, and yet something in Masara rejected them. She wanted to, still, but a screech in the back of her mind did not feel unfamiliar, that it was damning evidence to the contrary. 

She was beginning to understand what Kokoro meant all those times she got red in the face, scolding Masara for “being so blunt.” 

“I think you love her.” 

Masara, her attention, her thoughts, everything snapped to the criss-cross, smiling girl. 

“I do, I really do,” Iroha continued. “I see so much of you in Ya—err, m-my friend, and... while I can’t speak for what you’re going through right now like I did her, I  _ can  _ say you care about Awane-san. Clearly! You want to protect her, yet you want her to be a part of your life. But you’re determined to sever ties despite this. That’s far from selfishness, Kagami-san. If anything is selfish, it’s you denying her a choice in the matter, or a chance to explain herself. That’s not only selfish, it’s honestly kinda cruel.” Iroha played with the sheets beside her knee. Her cheek was glowing through the window’s dreamlike shroud. 

Masara… tried to think of what to say. But Iroha’s words kept getting in the way: “That’s not only selfish, it’s honestly kinda cruel; But you’re determined to sever ties… it’s honestly kinda cruel, denying her a choice in the matter. Kinda cruel, you want her to be a part of your life… a chance to explain herself. That’s not only selfish, it’s honestly kinda cruel.” 

“It’s cruel?” 

“Of course it is.” Iroha was looking at her; Masara had thought aloud like a fool. “Remember how I said my friend was like you? Well, I think I can understand what Kokoro would feel if you went and did the same, because that’s how I felt not too long ago, when my friend tried disbanding our team because she was afraid.” 

“And even though that kind of ‘merciful thinking’ is cruel, not just to our friends but ourselves,” said Iroha, “I don’t think it’s an indication that you yourself are a cruel person. That’s absolutely the case with my friend, and I’m almost certain it’s the same for you.” 

“Iroha—”

“I don’t know a lot about you, Kagami-san,” she powered on ahead, clearly wishing to finish her opinion. “But I don’t think you’re a bad person for the reasons you think, just confused, and frightened, and in pain. All I know, all anybody seems to  _ really  _ know about you, is that you consider yourself emotionless. But I can tell, just from this one conversation, that you feel just as much as me or any one of my friends. And so, if you’re wrong about that, I think it’s safe to say you’re also wrong about being this  _ selfish monster _ .” She almost spat those last words—this girl gave a genuine damn, unlike all the doctors and classmates Masara had ever spoken to. 

“Fine.” Masara wrung her hands, tucked in her feet; everything was  _ shaking _ . “Okay.” A swelling in her chest, something she rarely felt, and only then with Kokoro, and earlier Kaede. Now with Iroha. “You seem to be an expert on the matter. Maybe you can explain to me why Kokoro,” Masara lingered, throwing her finger at the stilled form on the couch, “is here right now, instead of home and out of my life.” 

Iroha huffed, partially in humor, but clearly with disappointment. “It’s what I’ve been saying this entire time, Kagami-san… Actually,” she said, perking up, “this is a good time to finish my story about how I met Felicia-chan. You see, the day we met, and… well, a lot happened that day, but we closed it bruised and hurting inside, but together. And there was a brief instance after we won our battles, this moment where she didn’t want to stick around our team. She insisted on it, not unlike yourself. I could tell it was out of guilt for causing us trouble, too.” 

Masara suddenly felt hot in the face, though why escaped her. But she had acted like a thirteen-year-old with anger management issues, and that was all she understood. 

“Even if I didn’t already know the ending, I highly doubt you rolled over and accepted that.”

That brought a smile Masara could only guess was melancholy. “Yeah. After learning what I did about her, seeing the person she was now, there was no ending in which I simply let her go. I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t at least tried to help.” 

“I envy your type of determination. This world lacks selfless people like you.” If this tiny girl had been so stubborn with someone she just met—with Masara, too, she just realized—it now seemed impossible to imagine Kokoro doing anything other than the exact same for her beloved ‘best friend.’ “The suicidal madness which grips your hearts,” she said, “to be on the receiving end of its affections is a powerful thing indeed. Mitsuki Felicia is lucky to have it.” 

“Like you?” Masara felt herself react to the question; she didn’t know how, for she lacked a looking glass, but Iroha stammered on the spot. “S-sorry, that was presumptuous of me.” 

“No. It’s quite alright. You... were drawing a sound conclusion. A correct one at that—I  _ am  _ lucky.” Masara touched at the warmth within her heart. “It’s a strange sensation I always felt around Kokoro. An inexplicable warmth that never felt painful, but, paradoxically, was so strange and overwhelming that it… it ‘hurt good,’ I suppose.” 

“I know exactly what you mean.” Iroha hugged herself, a blushy smile alighting her end of the room. “I’ve got four amazing friends who leave me feeling drunk on bliss, all the time. I actually used to think there was something wrong with me, like I was overreacting.” 

“I understand the concern.” Overreacting over strange and outlandish feelings, labeled as such by virtue of being new and inexplicable. A feeling compounded, haunted really, by the awareness that it all stemmed from the sheer existence of a singular presence by her side in school, at her back in battle. Iroha felt much the same, and she apparently beat such niggling notions:

“You said ‘used to...’” 

“Mm.” Iroha nodded. “It bothered me enough to wanna bring it up through casual conversation with my eldest. I’ll never forget the look on her face. We were having our usual teatime when I shared. I made light of those feelings, sharing them with laughter edging my words—I didn’t want to feel like a downer, you see. But Yachiyo… she just looked at me with these really sad eyes. She always looked sad back then, though, but in that moment she looked moved by something in the present. Until that point, I realized later, she had no idea I felt this way. To her, I was a likable person, which is why she sounded so taken aback when she answered, ‘There’s nothing at all wrong with you. You’re happy to be in good company… at last, I imagine?’” Iroha shook her head, gazing to where her memory resurfaced within the depths of that stained glass window. “She was so right that I couldn’t find the words to reply. I just reacted, and I did so with a bob of the head. For a second I was afraid Yachiyo-san would make fun, or pry into my past. But instead, she gave one of those—at the time—one of her rare smiles, and admitted that she’s felt the exact same as me since we started investigating Rumors together. At the time, she was insistent on calling us roommates, and teammates, but I felt I could read her true feelings between the lines. It turns out, my hunch was right! Her heart considered us friends.” 

Masara… felt genuinely sick to her stomach. It felt unreal that her story, all of them thus far, were such familiar tales. “When we first started—… err, when Kokoro began insisting herself upon my life,” Masara told her bedding, “I felt a great many things in those early days. But one of them was apprehension towards Kokoro, specifically her smile. It looked just as forced as it did when we first met in a Labyrinth, before she broke down.” 

“You felt you couldn’t trust her?” 

“Somewhat. Thinking this didn’t help my confusion regarding her behavior, like why she kept coming back despite my frosty exterior.” Masara looked Iroha in the eye, hesitated—Kokoro’s will of steel resided in this girl’s eye as well. “After I’d saved her, accepted her and by extension our friendship as something I wanted to protect, Kokoro’s smiles became real. I couldn’t tell you what changed, only that they came more frequently, looked less painful to uphold.” 

Iroha hummed happily. “You could say she’s much like you and I: we’re happy to finally have a good friend.” 

That “good” made Masara internally wince. She stuffed the feeling down, lasered-in on those smiles she remembered getting every single day until… until Masara herself put an end to their routine. “I never made it my business to pry into her private life, her childhood. Whatever those may entail, Kokoro’s dialogue had always implied she was not considered ‘popular,’ and that she lacked—lacks—any friends who aren’t magical girls.” 

Masara and Iroha locked eyes, and it was the latter who broke it with a gasp, bouncing focus between Masara and Kokoro’s sleeping form. “Kagami-san,” she breathed, “you look so heartbroken all of a sudden!” 

Her face had a tendency of acting on its own. “For once,” she realized suddenly, “I think I understand why. Iroha, I’ve had many conversations in person and via internet forums this past week, trying to comprehend my own feelings and Kokoro’s. I’ve learned and seen so much. But the only solid conclusion I could draw here and now is that there’s no single answer to my problems, that it depends on numerous personal factors of the parties involved. But the one thing which continues to escape my understanding… is why I was ever worth a second of her time.” 

“Kagami-san—”

Masara felt this was incomplete, and spoke before she could reply: “Kokoro is a kind and selfless person. She’s patient and compliant, but not to an irritating extent which renders her a doormat. She’s a strong personality, full of admirable traits. It’s objectively impossible to dislike her.” Iroha giggled, obviously at Masara’s atypical bold-faced proclamation, though it still was a nick in the brain. She wasn’t trying to be humorous, but rather emphasizing how factual her assessment was. “My point is,” Masara continued, “is that Kokoro can and has made better friends than me. She can surely find a better life partner.” 

“By whose measure?” Iroha asked, her fists raised as though poised to literally fight Masara on this point. “Who decides whether or not you’re worthy of being Kokoro’s, if not Awane-san herself?” 

“I do,” said Masara. 

She felt she had been asked this question by others and herself countless times this past week, even by Kokoro herself. At first, she liked to believe Kokoro was not in the right state of mind to objectively judge what was best for her. Masara still felt this way, for the most part. Kaede’s example rocked that, however, and so did Iroha. 

But she would not—never again—abuse Kokoro’s needs for her own selfish gain. At the end of the day, that’s what their dynamic boiled down to. 

“I can’t speak for Kokoro’s feelings on the matter,” Masara explained, “but I can mine. I provide nothing beneficial to our relationship outside of giving her an unintended sense of belonging. That sort of dependency, although I could never quite word it properly until now, has been what’s always bothered me about our dynamic.” Iroha looked miserable by the turn this conversation took—the realistic one, free of messy emotion and naive optimism. 

“While on the subject,” Masara continued, “going off on what you’d shared with me, it seems as though you justify keeping to toxic personalities like Mitsuki and your elder to maintain this newfound sense of camaraderie. As an outsider looking in, going off on her own experiences, this kind of codependency is only going to drain and then kill you in the end. In fact, you did almost get killed by it today, as it did Kokoro.” 

The silence was instead filled by gentle huffing up ahead. Iroha was glaring. Her eyes shone bright. Inhaling, raising one finger, Iroha uttered low, “First of all, please don’t you ever call Felicia or any of my friends  _ ‘toxic’ _ again. They have problems, sure—but we all do. Second, people with problems shouldn’t isolate themselves from society thinking they’re unsalvageable, or dangerous because of it. That kind of thinking and ostracizing, self-inflicted or otherwise, is part of why Japan’s a hotbed for naturally occurring suicides.” 

Masara couldn’t claim to be an expert on the subject matter, but Iroha struck as the type to care deeply about such issues. She trusted her assessment on this particular matter, and by proxy felt ridiculous. Like she’d overstepped her presumptuousness. 

“And third…” Iroha exhaled, “yeah. Yeah, you’re right, Kagami-san. It  _ is _ hard. It’s  _ so  _ hard being their friend sometimes.” Iroha was smiling regardless. “But no friendship is a walk in the park. Not that I’ve had very many, I’ll be honest, so I’m not a good authority, yet in my time at Mikazuki Villa, I learned that the meaningful ones only get that way with time and work. I also know that, despite all the hassle, Felicia-chan loves me and is all the better for it, for being in our lives. And… and so is  _ mine _ ,” Iroha wept, but she was sturdy as a statue. 

Only the gleam in her eye moved, trickling down—a thin highlight of blue running down her cheek. “It really is. Better, I mean. And I will  _ never  _ hesitate to say that. Felicia’s many things, but she’s loyal, and kind. Funny, cute, and eager to please. I feel safe when I’m with her, more than I had around any other before moving to Kamihama.” 

“And… she’s honestly incredible in her own way. How, despite her baggage, she manages to be one of the most optimistic souls I’ve ever met, and hardly ever lies about how she feels. She can be brash and selfish at times, sure, and when a sore spot is poked she can’t help but get defensive, and use her anger as both a weapon and a shield. She isn’t perfect, Felicia-chan’s got a lot of flaws. But in all honesty, I don’t see a good reason why I should sever ties with her, unless I decided to be at once selfish and self-harming by cutting her out of my life forever. I would hate that, and not just because I threw away someone who loves me over what amounts to an accident.” 

“And Kokoro-chan would feel much the same way, I guarantee~” 

Masara had noticed the elder magical girl within her peripherals, but was so enraptured by Iroha’s take that she didn’t care to fully register Mitama’s approach.

But the pinkette yelped, slapping both hands across her mouth midway as Mitama threw her waistcoat around Iroha’s nakedness. “Tamaki-chan, sweetie, you should be bundled up in your blanket so you don’t catch a cold!” she murmured playfully, squeezing the girl’s shoulders. 

Iroha flinched out of Mitama’s hold, who reeled her hands back with alarm. “C-Coordinator-san, I’m sorry for waking you up,” Iroha stammered, closing the coat around her body. A little baggy, like a rain jacket on her. “Um, th-thank you,” she said, not to Mitama’s face.

The Coordinator frowned, looking between her and Masara. “Oh, come on,” she whined, stamping her foot. “What have I done that’s so wrong?” 

“Huh?” 

Mitama threw a hand Masara’s way. “You were strutting around in your birthday suit before a stranger’s eyes.” She clasped the front of her dress shirt. “Meanwhile,  _ I’ve _ lived through some of your most embarrassing and shameful moments all the times I’ve adjusted your soul gem. But only now are you acting like I’m licking you with my eyes.” 

Iroha curled up tighter, hiding her blush within the collar. “You had to say it like  _ that? _ Masara just… she looked me in the eye right away and never anywhere else. I could tell she didn’t care, like most girls. That’s all.” 

Mitama pouted, folding her arms. “Dear, oh, dear. ‘That’s all,’ she says, as if respect of privacy isn’t one of my  _ policies _ . I’m starting to feel like a bad guy, I dare say.” 

“Maybe if you conducted yourself with a modicum of professionalism, people would genuinely want to be around you.” 

She gaped Masara’s way. Gaped, and then scoffed sharply. “I  _ am  _ professional!” she hissed. 

“Then stop sexually harassing your clients,” Masara advised. “It’s lunacy to presume that not a soul feels uncomfortable by your conduct. And you’re eighteen? Perhaps if you acted like it, you’d find more grief seeds in your pocket.” 

Even someone like Masara understood the subtext before her. Part of her was certain a girl like Iroha was never at total ease around Mitama, eccentric personality aside. Kokoro made it no secret she misliked dealing with the Coordinator most days. Masara didn’t have an opinion on Mitama’s behavior, but she never thought that everybody should feel the same. 

“This isn’t about compensation,” Mitama muttered. “Talk is genuinely cheap. Have I charged you for my leads, Masara?” 

“You made it clear you were expecting repayment somewhere down the line.” Masara remembered a comment that followed which she quickly dismissed, but now realized was relevant: “You alluded to extorting me for a sexual favor.” 

Mitama scoffed gently. “That was a joke. It’s not like I could force you to pay me in such a way.” 

“Younger girls who are more scared of facing Witches than I am might read you completely differently. Especially when you talk like everything is a lighthearted matter.” 

“I don’t always.” 

“You do mostly.” Masara rose from her bed, straightened out her various sashes and baubles. “It’s genuinely surprising to me that you were so oblivious about such things.” Masara strode around her bed, passed Mitama’s melancholy air, exchanging glances with Iroha. She smiled, and Masara did too before pressing on. 

“Coordinator,” Masara said, halting her progress as she laid eyes on Kokoro. “Do me a favor, and tell her that I’m ready to talk when she is.” That didn’t feel right. They already did and Kokoro had no idea this would not be like the last. “Specifically, tell her that I’m ready to… to talk about my feelings.” 

No immediate reply. Masara looked back, saw Mitama slouched like before. “Shall I leave her a note instead?” 

A dry laugh. Mitama picked her head up, fingers tightening around the hem of her skirt. “You’re a rough one, Kagami-chan: criticizing my character to the bone and then asking a favor in the same breath?” 

Masara spun around; for once, she had no will to stand Mitama’s word games. “A simple ‘Yes’ or ‘no’ would suffice.” 

Mitama cried out at normal volume, “Why are you both being so mean to me?” 

Maybe it was something in the air. Perhaps this week had frayed her and Kokoro’s nerves more than either of them thought. Or, more likely the more she thought about it, Masara’s various experiences and perspectives she’d witnessed made Mitama’s behavior retrospectively appalling. 

“Cordial dialogue is for friends. Or those you’re on good standing with. I, personally, have always felt as detached from you as I have most people throughout my life. You’ve made it no secret that we’re customers first, and your friends or toys or whathaveyou second.” 

“So… you see yourselves as my tools, and me as yours in turn?” Mitama’s expression curdled further. 

“I suppose that’s appropriate in a general sense. I can’t speak for everyone, and if you can’t, perhaps that tells you something about how close you really get with everybody.”

Masara exchanged a look with Iroha, who was obviously unable to interject because she was the type unable to ever say the hard truths, at least not those which involved hurting other people with no way to comfort them. Because this was definitely one of those times. 

“I don’t believe the Coordinator did anything to you,” Masara said to her. “In all likelihood, you had to be fixed this way, and kept unconscious for the healing process.” 

Iroha perked up, eyes bright. “O-oh, I know that! I do. And I know that I couldn’t just use magic to change, because of the note Yachiyo left for me.” Iroha looked to the bag of Chinese food. “It’s just that…” 

“The Coordinator makes your skin crawl,” Masara presumed. When Iroha said nothing, only slunk further as Mitama scoffed in pain, she added, “Many girls feel the same.” Masara turned back around, made for the stairwell past Kokoro. 

“Um!” 

She froze, turned to find Mitama having advanced a few steps and looking more tense, more red in the face, than Masara could ever recall her being. 

“Don’t you go thinking,” she began strong, but hesitating, “that I’m not taking any of this to heart, Kagami-san. If you can change, then so can I!” 

Masara couldn’t change, and that was part of the reason why she doubted Mitama’s words like always. “Will you leave my message or not?” 

She slouched slightly. “Yes,” Mitama sighed. 

Masara nodded in thanks, then went on her way. Exiting the old building, leaping into the night sky, Mitama’s vow had seemed to have struck a chord, as it was all she could think about. She seemed emotional, like she really cared about how other people felt. Mitama always seemed the type to say what she needed to get what she wanted, though, and that included other girls’ affections. At least enough of them so none would get too close. 

Masara thought this as she leapt from building to building. Rooftop to rooftop. 

For roughly fifteen-seconds. 

Everything went to black suddenly, and all thoughts and feelings swirling within ceased. 

  
  


“I had a feeling you heard everything.” 

Kokoro could only nod. She didn’t but the sudden switch from pure quiet to sharp whispering roused her before Masara and Iroha truly dove into the meat of their discussion. 

“Kokoro-chan,” Mitama said. She was smiling sadly, clapping her hands together. “Could you please go find Kagami-chan’s body? I failed to tell her that you went to sleep with her soul gem.” 

So did Kokoro. Gut dropping, she reached between the couch cushions and extracted the jewelry housing Masara’s soul. 

It took just a few minutes of searching to find Masara upturned in a dumpster, her spine bent impossibly around the edge. 

More than anything, Kokoro wanted to talk right now. But she didn’t want to push her luck even more so. So upon finding Masara’s body, Kokoro only had enough time to leave her soul beside it and escape the scene in a single leap. 

A leap fueled by anxiety and excitement for tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really is longer than I thought, but last chapter will definitely be the last - last scene, with a small epilogue to cap it off.


	7. This is love (no, really, for real this time, it is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kokoro and Masara have a long overdue talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. This was a lot of work, so please, even if you don't feel like you have anything of value to say, I'd really like to know if you enjoyed this. Anything my lovely readers will say would make me very happy!

The numbers of her phone’s digital clock had, at some point, become entirely different digits. 

_ What am I waiting for? _wondered Kokoro. 

But the tightness in her breast had long answered, before the school day ended. Heck, before yesterday even happened—as far back as when she initially blurted out her feelings for Masara, before this hesitation had mutated from… what? 

Last night was when it gave a _ clear _answer. A second’s search of her heart, a reminder in the form of a twisting heart as her thumb trembled over the ‘Call’ button: and Kokoro prayed to whomever was listening (to a teenager who sold her soul to an extraterrestrial devil) that Masara would still be a part of her life by the end of this day. 

Maybe if Kokoro started running, too, prolonging the inevit—_ No! _

Eyes squeezed shut, thumb mashing, half a heartbeat later the phone rang at last. Whatever Masa-chan would say, however the status of their relationship may end up… leaving her twisting in the wind was the worst thing Kokoro could do. 

Especially when she seemed so determined to address this, now, more than she ever had about anything: _ ‘Tell her that I’m… I’m ready to talk about my feelings.’ _It would be downright sinful to squash Masara’s courage out of a selfish bout of fear. 

The first ring’s groan was cut off partway through, Masara’s soft voice murmuring, “Awane-san.” 

Immediately her throat made a squeaking sound. Kokoro silenced herself the best she could, clamping shut with a firm palm. But the sound had been made, she couldn’t help it—-hearing her last name spoken by that voice felt like a knife in the gut. And it was just a taste of what’s to come, she knew it in her soul. 

“Hello? Is this one of those ‘butt dials?’” 

Still muzzling herself, Kokoro snickered at Masara’s awkward sincerity. It was enough to help greet her brightly: “Hey, Masa-chan. I’m done with classes.” A group of girls in blue skirts chatted, passing by. 

“As am I. Where would you like to talk?” 

Kokoro blinked, realizing that Masara had been really good at evading her if she’d come into school today. “I, uh, wherever you prefer! Obviously somewhere secluded.” 

“That would be ideal.” 

_ For your sake, or mine? _The Masara from days ago flashed forth, from the day she made a physical advance, and seemed to think she’d hurt Kokoro as a result: her calm countenance defiled by parted lips, a look completely alien to her, and her face framed by silently shedding tears. 

So many questions. Too many to start thinking about. _ Masa-chan will explain. She wants to talk about her feelings. _

“I’ll meet you on the main building’s roof,” Masara said suddenly. “And… I’m sorry.” A click on the other end. The call had ended. 

________________________________________________________________

She was gazing across the stretch of campus, one hand clutching the chain-link fence, as Kokoro emerged onto the rooftop. Masara turned, still holding on like it was her lifeline, or the dam for her emotions. Had Masara ever cried before, like genuinely bawled, and not shedding tears with confusion and regret like before? 

Her iconic braid hung, ever the anchor as a breeze picked up. Silvery hair fluttered aside, wrapped gently around her chin, framing her serenity like the finest spider silk. Her eyes, as always, were sharp and simultaneously soft; more akin to water than ice—eyes which gazed listlessly at everything, but had always filled with _ something _when she regarded Kokoro. At least, that’s what she had secretly thought. Hoped, really, and wasn’t just a bad case of love-tinted goggles. 

Now, Kokoro knew it was true: Masara had always felt something profound she just couldn’t put into words.

And since last night, the realization that Masara might be gone from her life forever did many things to Kokoro. Make her cry, chief among them—lots of crying. Many other, much more fiery and harsher emotions, to be sure, but even those ended up burning through her tissue box. And yet, between their isolation for over a week now, everything else going on, and yesterday being steeped in darkness (via Labyrinth trick, nauseating amounts of blood, or the Coordinator’s lack of proper lighting), Kokoro had forgotten just how much she adored this girl’s effortless beauty, and she couldn’t help but feel reminded of this fact now. 

This, after all, might be her last time seeing it, at least as... friends, if that was still an appropriate label for what they had. 

If it ever was, really. 

_ Whatever you may call us, I’m going to fight for it. Because I heard you last night, Masa-chan. I heard everything you said and had been saying, both outright and not. I know, at least partially, why you’re so afraid. But… _

_ But that doesn’t mean I have to listen! _

“Masa-chan?!” Something exploded within as a coat of sweat burst upon her. Idiot. Kokoro squeezed her fist, swallowed the sick rising up her throat. “Um, I… I suddenly feel the need to say this. And it’ll sound weird, and feel random, and I know you won’t get it at all, but… _ but—! _” A thunk by her feet, Kokoro’s textbook-laden schoolbag falling beside her. She was gripping her elbows, her knees tapping together, again and again. 

_ At worst she won’t care, at worst she won’t care, at worst she won’t care so stop being a coward, she NEEDS YOU! _

Kokoro inhaled deep, forced herself to look her beloved in the eye. “You’re… you’re incredibly beautiful, Masa-chan!” Masara flinched, surprisingly, turning completely towards her. “You’re the most beautiful person I’d ever met, _ and I _ — _ ! _ I’ve always thought that,” she murmured, as if that was the most embarrassing part of all this. “I know you don’t care for things like beauty, and that you’re probably just confused if anything right now, but… but it’s how I feel. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to say this again, and… I _ realized _that just now, so… so, I wanted to let you know that, before we… we get sidetracked by more important matters.” 

A moment of silence. Just a second was long enough for sweat to start bursting from her pores. Kokoro was so dumb, always so stupid and emotional; it’s a true wonder why Masara felt driven to save her from a Witch way back when. 

_ What _ does _ she see in m—? _

“You always sell yourself short.” 

It was so soft, her thoughts so loud, that she almost didn’t hear. But Kokoro had over a year’s worth of training, listening to Masara’s gentle cadance; she never missed a word, no matter how gentle her voice. 

But did Masara really just say that? 

That she thought Kokoro was overvaluing her, and _ underestimating _herself? 

_ What—?! No! No… she’s just going to have a ‘logical’ view on this like always. Don’t twist it into thinking she finds you attractive, Kokoro. _

She stayed true to form, looking Kokoro in the eye all dead-serious. “I do nothing special for my looks because I don’t care—” 

“I know you don’t. You really don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“But I _ never do. _ ” Masara froze her completely, thoughts and all, with but a stressing tone. Calm, she continued, “I believe, if we were to be objective with something such as this, then… it’s you who’s more conventionally beautiful.” Kokoro blinked. Twice. Masara crossed her arms. “You arrange your hair in a unique and therefore eye catching manner. One that may incite affection within those whom it appeals to. And I meant it the other day when I said your skin was quite fair. Additionally, your figure is far more voluptuous than mine.” _ Oh my GOSH Masa-chan, you seriously just said that! _“I understand that sexual preferences exist, but it’s in our nature to seek out the healthiest partners. Your figure is most desirable for bearing children, generally speaking. I can’t speak personally, however. Though these aspects of your appearance are more apparent to me, perhaps because of our closeness plus my evident feelings for you.” 

That seemed to ground everything to a halt, beyond the mere freezing she somewhat-aggressively instilled before. Now, the whole of existence seemed stuck in this very moment—the air, the chatter. All of it gone, everything vanished, save Masara and Kokoro and the complexities between them. 

“F-feelings?” Kokoro parroted. 

Masara seemingly read bafflement, cocking a brow. “You think all of this drama was roused by my perpetual boredom?” 

“N-no! It’s just that… well, you know…” 

Was this a confession? The thought barely formed coherently—Kokoro was still trying to keep up with all that praise suddenly piled on her. _ She _never thought she was all that special, and yet here was Masara, giving her more compliments in under a minute than most horny boyfriends saying whatever to get what they wanted. 

“Is something the matter?” Concern was written in her eyes. 

“Y-yeah! Totally! Everything you’re saying is so, like, new and unexpected, coming out of your mouth. It’s just a shock, kinda. Y’know? Besides…” Kokoro aired out the heat building below her collar. “You’re a natural beauty, though, Masa-chan. There’s not a soul who’d disagree, not without struggling to nitpick anyway.” 

“But I don’t care about how people see me,” Masara continued, all-business but probably terrified inside, and not recognizing it as such by the way her shoulders peaked toward her ears—last night had been truly telling in more ways than one. “I especially see nothing praiseworthy about my looks that others don’t do better. Not that I ever would anyway, as beauty is entirely subjective, but… thank you, Kokoro, for appreciating my apparent attractiveness. I… I cannot say I don’t care for your sentiments here, because I certainly felt something as you said all that. I still do. It’s hard to think clearly right now.”

“My thoughts keep rewinding back to your praise. I wonder why.” 

Kokoro was about to explode—like she could hear the steam squealing out of her head, her chest aching so bad, surely fit to burst. Why? Masara had said a lot there, more about herself than she ever had (to Kokoro) before, but… but why did it feel like her emotions were trying to burst from her ribcage? She was just stating what amounted to her personal opinion. 

About Kokoro’s beauty. 

Oh, gosh. Gosh, oh, gosh. 

_ Now is not the time to be getting mushy, brain! _Goodness, she was screaming internally and they hadn’t even gotten to the important emotional stuff yet. 

“Apologies.” Masara had crossed her arms, eyes to the floor. “Was never good at expressing how I feel. I’m sure that sounded like vague nonsense, and I understand that that’s hard to glean emotion from—” 

“No!” This wasn’t right. “You’re wrong!” Masara had no reason to feel this way, not again, not because of Kokoro’s stupid inability to handle her own emotions as well. “That meant so much to me, Masa-chan! Every time you—!” She was yelling, her heart thundering. Calm, calm; Kokoro needed to take a breath, hold it, calm herself. 

A second later, she exhaled. Slowly. “Masara,” she exhaled, the girl stiffening slightly within her peripherals, “every-single-time you get all ‘objective’ on me, from the day we met, you’ve said these things which just throw me for a loop. Always. And I know you only ever mean to be unbiased in your assessments, but… most people don’t even _ think _about doing something like that. That alone is enough to make me wanna keep in your company.” 

A beat passed in silence. “I presume there’s more?” She was softer than normal. 

Kokoro was gripping her collar, she suddenly realized. “Masa-chan, you’ve always been the… the absolute _ cutest _ thing,” she gushed in equal volume. “Seriously articulating your stance, not just offering good conversation, but also trying to make me feel better by getting me out of my own head, and into the real world whenever I was feeling down about something? With all of that, I couldn’t _ help _ but luh—… l-l- _ love _ you more and more, every day we spent together,” she finished quickly, boiling like Hell itself. 

“And… is that the reason?” When Kokoro looked at her, Masara was clearly doing her best to look detached, only to seem weary instead. “Your love for me?” she clarified. 

This… was it? 

This was it! 

She was finally asking the big question! Better yet, Kokoro had last night to really organize her thoughts for this very moment. 

But first, she laughed. 

She had to. 

All this time, all these months knowing Masara—getting tight in the chest just thinking about how she’d feel if Kokoro ever admitted her honest feelings—and she’d asked the big question like one would question a teacher for clarity. 

In her own way, Masara had always been incredible. 

She was looking annoyed, however. Kokoro stifled her giggles, clarified between pants, “I’d kept my feelings hidden all this time, not ‘cause I was afraid of losing you, but because I’d always thought you wouldn’t care. The idea hurt me bad, but I wouldn’t blame you for a second if you felt that way.” 

“Nor would I hold it against you for having such fears. I’m sure most people would feel the exact same in our shoes.” But how often did friends fall in love with each other? “The reality has been completely different, however.” Masara, against all odds, offered a wry smile. “Textbook irony.” 

Kokoro chuckled, grinning her eyes shut. “That’s for sure.” Her amusement died as silence followed, finding Masara’s smirk and gaze gone, anchored to the ground as she gripped her regrown arm. 

_ She must still blame herself for yesterday. _Oh, that time was totally her fault, but Masara shouldn’t feel lower than trash for an otherwise common lapse in judgement—one incited by Kokoro’s own, having essentially shattered the fragile emotional balance Masara had maintained around her until that encounter with Suzune.

She had to tell her this much, at least; Masara had to know that none of this was solely her fault, nor did blame need to be any one body’s. Both were thrust into a foreign situation, not knowing how to handle what they were feeling. Standard teenage drama, yeah? It really wasn’t so unique a situation. 

Yeah. 

Yeah! 

Kokoro just needed to put this into words. 

“It should go without saying by this point,” said Masara, “but I want our relations to end immediately.” 

Whatever Kokoro was thinking before shattered into pieces, her thoughts and gut reaction coinciding as one: “What? Why?!” Kokoro shook her head, breathed; this had been a possibility, it always was. Deep down, she knew, but… “I was _ really _banking on you talking about your feelings. For once,” Kokoro thought, added, aloud. Any manifesting regret died seeing Masara’s look of one caught with her hand in the cookie jar—she was caught running away once again, and knew Kokoro saw it clear as day. “Isn’t that what you were ready to do? You said as much to Mitama, and she told me.” 

“So you _ were _awake.” 

“Who do you think brought back your soul gem?” 

Masara gazed aside. “I knew it was you—no way would Mitama run away and hide, even after the things I’d said. And Iroha wasn’t allowed to use any other magic until she was fully healed.” 

Arms crossed, she finished softly, “I figured you were avoiding me.” 

“I’m not you—I wouldn’t do something that would hurt you.” Kokoro realized what she’d said, saw the widening of Masara’s eyes, and winced inside and definitely out. “Ugh. So much for _ that _ , went and made it out like I avoided you last night anyway. I mean, I _ was _but… you know.” 

“No. I don’t,” said Masara promptly. 

Was she mad? She could be, should be—Kokoro was really no better at explaining herself than she, and had no right to condemn. Most people shouldn’t, and yet they seemed to, given Masara’s lone wolf act. 

“Right. Silly me.” Kokoro tugged on her collar, airing out the embarrassment. “I didn’t want to force anything on you right then and there, since you seemed to wanna do it today.” Masara’s neutrality was set, but in that moment it seemed to scream, ‘Yeah. Bullshit.’ 

“And… honestly,” added Kokoro, tapping her fingers together, “I was mostly scared of this conversation. And excited. But mostly afraid.” 

“Of what?” Masara touched her cheek. “It’s only me.” 

Exactly. “It was this, Masa-chan. What you just said, about cutting off our friendship. I actually considered running before calling! Just for a moment, but I did.” 

Masara adopted a sad look, her arms folding tighter. “This will be ironic coming from me, but you had to have known that we couldn’t avoid this forever.” A glance at her feet. “I couldn’t. I tried all week, but…” 

“But you ran instead,” Kokoro finished. 

“You weren’t going to listen. I was right.” 

“And neither would you.” 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t give me the same courtesy. No matter what I’d say, or how I expressed my concerns yesterday, you just kept coming back again and again.” 

“Yet you don’t try and understand _ why _.” 

Masara’s eyes flared. “The fact that you’re still here wanting to be with me proves it.” 

“What? That you were hoping that I’d _ hate you _after yesterday?” 

Masara shrugged. “Doing so would make this easier on the both of us. But I was naive in expecting—hoping, I suppose—such an unlikely scenario. There’s no comprehending the mind of a genuine madwoman” 

_ D-did she just call me a—? _Everything that had happened between them, everything she learned from those girls she’d met, especially Iroha’s perspective… She was the insane one. She was stubborn. She was ridiculous and mean and so fucking obtuse all the damn time. 

“Are… are you _ kidding me? _ ” Kokoro cried. “Are you freaking _ kidding me, _Masara?! What was the point of asking Iroha all those questions if you weren’t going to try and understand her perspective?!” 

“I did,” snapped Masara, albeit softly. 

“Then you should realize that I’m no different!” said Kokoro, clapping her hands together. “I’m not holding yesterday or _ anything _ you did this week against you because I _ un-der-stand! _ You get that? I _ understand _ that you made mistakes, I _ understand _that you always will, because you’re a damn human being and we’re prone to screwing up! It’s a part of life, and you learn from it!” 

“Be quiet.” 

“No! You shouldn’t take that as a sign of being some kinda _ monster _, especially when you got someone who’s willing to forgive and empathize with what you’re going through!” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Masara retorted. “You don’t know a thing about me. You think you do but you truly don’t.” 

“That’s crap, and you know it. I know tons about you, things you yourself don’t realize because you’re too damn scared to actually tell me how you feel!” This was insane; Kokoro was saying things she never imagined uttering, especially to Masara. 

But the quiet reserved voice guarding her spoken thoughts was dead. Her heart was in control, and it was thundering throughout her whole body. 

“This week had been a microcosm of the broken, empty thing I truly am.” 

A six-armed statue flashed forth, the phantom odor of blood ringing in her ears impossibly. “I saw the person you truly are inside, Masa-chan—screaming and wailing and tryna plug up her face to shut out the world, it was horrible!” 

Masara winced, her face slack, stuck like that. “I…” 

Kokoro had her with no defense. She couldn’t help but smile. “You can’t pretend you’re okay being alone, Masa-chan.” She took a step forward. “It’s not good for you, and it isn’t kind to me.” She stole another. And another. 

Masara inched back, her rear hitting the gate. She crossed her arms, looking aside, trying to compose her coolness. “I’m used to being alone. You have genuine friends in several magical girls, now. So you won’t be aching for company. You’ll realize soon that what I did is better for your emotional and mental health.” 

_ Every time. All the damn time since this stupid shit started—! _ “Would you stop deciding what’s good for me, when _ you’re the one _who has no idea how I’d feel if that’s how this all ended?” 

Masara looked her in the eye. “You know, eight times out of ten, people with addiction require outside help in order to recognize it.” 

Kokoro blinked, staggering back. That stung, as if she’d been slapped—everywhere stung. Everywhere burned, especially her guts. _ Especially _her guts. “You’re saying I have an addiction to you?” She laughed. She had to. This was getting insane. 

“I’m no better.” Masara was frowning, deeper and harder than she ever had before. This was killing her, it had to be. “Iroha gave the impression that such an unhealthy dynamic could work, that all is right so long as the participants in a relationship possess good intentions. But that’s little more than an excuse, a justification to maintain the social ties spurned people like us need so badly, that we’re willing to endure pain and suffering—” 

“Stop, Masa-chan! It’s so obvious you’re just saying this because you don’t want to hurt me!”

Masara tilted her head, puzzled. “I thought that was obvious.” Something heavy dropped within Kokoro. She continued, “I believe Iroha’s feelings align with yours, don’t mistake me. But her life, her strengths and weaknesses, none of it is mine. Moreover, I don’t know her relationship with the girl who nearly killed her. They have a different bond from ours, and as such her perspective can only go so far.” 

Masara held out her hand, her ring flashing from her finger. In the light’s place sat a royal blue egg, glowing softly in her palm. She inhaled audibly, exhaled just the same, saying nothing. 

“Kokoro,” she began, “I believe we have a dependency on one another that disregards your well being from both sides. That, objectively speaking, is not an equal relationship. It’s a parasitic bond at best.” Her voice wavered throughout. 

The sheer emotion, her struggling composure… “Masa-chan, please. Please don’t punish yourself like this, I know you don’t want to lose me.” It was the best she could think to say. Masara was terrified of who she was, what she’s capable of, no matter what’s said to the contrary. 

And she said nothing back. “Don’t do this, please! Don’t shut me out! If it’s our dynamic that makes you uncomfortable, we can change it!” How? Kokoro wasn’t thinking, just feeling, praying they reached Masara’s confused grey heart. “_ You _can change! You just have to trust that I want to help you, just like you help me! We can make it work, but you have to take a leap of faith first!” 

Masara wasn’t looking, her attention completely on her soul gem, dull and black around the edges—the day, this moment, had taken its toll on her. 

She reached and closed her hand around her soul gem’s diamond-shaped crown. From its oceanic depths, Masara drew her foot-long dagger, the blade hissing as if drawn from a scabbard. It raked Kokoro’s soul and eardrums. 

What was she planning to do with that? 

Masara kept it pointing down, the blade tip kissing her soul’s glassy exterior. She looked Kokoro in the eye. “You won’t listen to me. And I don’t know what’s happening, but your pitiable display is beginning to affect me, as it always does.” 

“Then listen to that feeling, for goodness’ sake! It’s perfectly normal: the things you feel and the way they move you, you just gotta let me help you under—!” 

“_ Stop it, _” Masara cried, doubling over. Her bangs quivered—she was shaking almost imperceptibly, her hands before her wavering as well. “Stop manipulating me. You always do this, infecting me with the same madness which moves you to do stupid things like maintain this farce of a friendship.” The dagger’s pommel trembled, her knuckles white as snow. “I was afraid this might happen, because you’re just so predictable, Kokoro… And I’m so weak. But I’m going to deter you once and for all, no matter the personal cost.” 

Her face lifted, followed by her eyes, dead and cold. 

Kokoro had often seen Masara with a bored glaze, a lively sparkle just as much when they were together. “Masa-chan?” But never had she looked empty; and with the dagger, her soul gem... “Wh-what’re you doing?” She couldn’t be serious. She wasn’t serious! 

Oh so simply, Masara replied, “It’s a perfectly acceptable trade to end my life if it means protecting yours.” The world seemed to shatter—the rooftop beneath Kokoro’s feet, her guts. There was only Masara, muffled, saying some garbled nonsense like, “The concept of death had always been a mere fact of life. I never cared, and I still don’t fear it. But because the thing my life apparently desires is irresponsible to cling to, death is now something of a calming notion.” 

Kokoro marched ahead, towards the crazy bitch. 

“It massages the tightness in my breast, particularly soothing when I think about you finally free from my control.” 

Her march became a sprint.

“Unless you agree to leave me alone, which will happen—” with a _ whomp, _ Kokoro summoned forth a tonfa, “—because you, for some reason, care for my empty existence too much to want to hurt m’ _ he! _” 

Masara made a face she’d never had before, a noise, too: her eyes bugging out of her head, mouth agape like that of a fish as a guttural gasp bellowed forth. 

A small part of Kokoro wondered if it hurt as bad as when Elsa Maria jabbed her, and an even smaller part felt bad for hoping Masara knew that pain this very moment. 

The rest of her, however… 

She grabbed Masara by her tie before she could slide down the gate, shoved her into it, rattling the whole thing. It wobbled from end to end. It had to have almost broke. 

“I’m,” Kokoro breathed deep, “gonna pretend you didn’t just say all that.” Kokoro reared back her weapon, the thing snapping with sparks, with her fury. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just threaten your life to manipulate my emotions!” 

“Ko—” 

_ “Shut the _ fuck up _ and let me talk for once, DAMMIT!” _

Deep down the same old smiley Kokoro cringed, knowing she was the chatterbox and Masara the listener on a normal day. But not this past week, and Masara acknowledged this—she shut the fuck up with wide, unblinking eyes. Kokoro glared into them, into her soul, hoping that Masara saw her own, saw the pain and fury this stupidity had wrung out of her. 

She was really prepared to kill herself over this stupid crap. 

“You… don’t often do this, Masara,” she rasped. Kokoro cleared her throat of hoarseness. “But when we first met, and in minor cases since, I’ve seen you panic and deflect when something new comes into the picture. Whether it’s my desire to be your friend, or the simple, uncontrollable fact that I’ve fallen in love with you, you react poorly and do the best you can to avoid the complication entirely.” 

“You do this without any consideration for my feelings,” she concluded. “In your mind, you think you do, and I can totally understand the perspective because… well, if we’re being honest here, I choose to, quote, ‘suffer’ inane crap like this because you’re worth it to me. Because I care about you, and we act on this ‘madness’ for the sake of one another. But it’s clear that that scares you badly, when I do it, because you don’t fully understand it, the ‘why’ of it. And rather than try to, rather than trusting or considering _ my honest feelings _ , you decide what’s best for both of us by choosing what’s easiest for _ you _, mentally and emotionally.” 

Masara’s lips parted. That was it, no words came. Ragged, warm breath tickled Kokoro’s neck in erratic patterns. Her brows knitted together, she breathed in softly. 

In a weak voice, Masara answered, “That, among other things, is why we shouldn’t be together, Kokoro.” Her words wavered as she tried to keep her voice steady. “I really, truly, genuinely don’t want to hurt you. _ Ever _.” 

Kokoro blinked twice, her heart skipping a beat. Masara was never one to fluff up her point with superfluous words, which means… 

At the core of everything, of all her behavior, her confusion and stupidity all throughout the week—and in some cases before that—-Masara had _ always, truly _ acted with what she believed was in Kokoro’s best interests. To be worthy of her, to be as good for her as she felt Kokoro was in turn. 

Even though she just asserted this, to pretty much hear it confirmed outright from the girl of her dreams, well... 

The world spun, twisting Kokoro’s guts along with it. She couldn’t bring herself to strangle the collar of Masara’s uniform any longer, her hold loosening and dropping her the short few inches she’d been lifted by. 

_ Wait, when did I—? _ When Masara massaged the side of her throat, it suddenly felt wrong to be so close to such a sad, confused girl she was ready to beat the daylights out of. _ I… I was ready to go crazy there. _Part of her still wanted to. Well, most of her did, actually. 

But it felt like getting angry at an amnesiac for forgetting who you were. Some things they just couldn’t help. 

Kokoro staggered back another step. “I’m,” she squeaked, swallowing, “I’m so sorry.” 

“A beating is the least I deserve if we’re being honest.” Masara’s fingers fell, wrapping around her elbow. “We bring out the worst in one another, you must see that.” 

“I can see, but I’m not so hurt that I’m blind to all the good.” To Masara’s cocking brow, Kokoro smiled reassuringly. “Masa-chan,” she said, “you’re the first magical girl friend I’d made. And the first real friend I had since middle school. I’ve made many more since then, true, but none of them… clicks with me the way it does with you.” 

Kokoro chuckled, the good times before all this still evident. “You never judged me, Masa-chan. Not in the way people our age typically do. You’re loyal. You say what you mean instead of leaving me second guessing your honesty. Usually, I feel like I got a pretty good sense of what’s what in that head of yours.” 

Masara gazed hard, wary. She probably didn’t mean it, but she looked as though Kokoro had just told a massive lie. Swallowing, Masara uttered, “You could have done all of that, found a friend with such traits, all on your own. You were bound to attract someone decent in due time. Your personality, strength, and kindness besides… none of that was because of me.” 

“Not directly, and not totally, sure.” Kokoro folded her hands behind her back. “But I’d be silent and sullen walking to and from school every day, to and from Witch Hunts, if I hadn’t met you when I did. That smile I usually got? I have it on because I’m with you. And that’s the truth of it.” 

Masara pressed her lips shut, the elbow she was clutching replaced with a bunching of her sleeve. 

Kokoro wasn’t going to leave her stunned and awkward, not knowing what to say, and most importantly of all, feeling like the biggest jerk who ever lived. Masara had done much wrong, particularly this past week, but she was far from deserving of such a label. 

“I say you’ve changed, too, Masa-chan.” 

Her gaze shed its distant glaze, truly meeting Kokoro’s eyes. Placid as ever on the surface, but the tension of her posture screamed of vulnerability, even while guarded. But Masara was silent, unable to deny Kokoro the chance to speak for herself after refusing her the privilege all week. 

“For the better, you really have changed,” Kokoro continued. “I mean, take these last several days for instance—answering my feelings properly was so important that you left your comfort zone to do it.” 

“I did what needed to be done,” Masara dismissed. 

“True. But you never talk about your feelings, even with me. Not in the way you did with Iroha last night. I’m sure the same could be said for the others you’ve met.” 

Masara’s brows knitted, her sigh heavy. “Please, don’t.” She breathed in again, sighing, “Don’t take that the wrong way. I simply never wanted to plague you with my petty problems, not when you had real issues concerning your family. It just never seemed right, or worthy of your time.” 

Kokoro put her hands on her hips. “Up-up! You went and did it again, Masa-chan: you decided what was best for me instead of considering how I felt. Now, I’d always kinda thought that that was the issue, and I didn’t wanna pressure you if you didn’t feel like talking about that stuff. But the truth is, Masara, your problems aren’t ‘petty.’ Not to me. They’re important to you, because they affect you. And as the girl who cares aboutcha,” she added, winking, “they’re important to me, too.” 

Masara’s eyes glared, glistening like they never have before. It was unbelievable. “K-Kokoro…” 

“And I’d gladly shoulder them every day if I had to, and not just because of my feelings for you,” she continued. “It’s because the essence of friendship is taking the good someone offers with the bad. At least, I think so. And if the bad doesn’t bother you enough to wanna go away and leave, then it’s worth keeping them in your life.” Kokoro rubbed the back of her head. “I always kinda thought we lasted so long because of that.” 

Masara stared, swallowed, and dropped her gaze. “Until now,” she uttered. ‘Until I ruined it,’ her softness implied. 

“I don’t think it’s over between us.” Kokoro shook her head. “No. I won’t let it! I can’t let it be done after all this, Masa-chan!” 

Masara scowled. “Why? Why did it have to be me, Kokoro? You have so much value as a human being, anybody would be genuinely lucky to be affiliated with you and have the same affection you give me. But I misunderstood your feelings so badly that I stomped on all over them and tried destroying what we had with my own two hands.” 

Her words came so fast, so gentle yet so harsh. It was frightening, it was heart wrenching. She really regretted everything she’d done up to this point. “Masara—” 

“So why? Why insist holding onto these feelings when I’ve proven to be a failing partner?” 

“Because you’re clearly not!” Kokoro cried. “All these things you’re saying? And doing? _ Feeling? _ It’s because you care about me, Masara! You think I don’t see that? Yeah, don’t get me wrong, it hurts and you’re misguided, but that’s okay to me! Really! It doesn’t bother me because I _ know, _deep down, you’re genuinely trying your best to do right by me—and that, by the way, is one of the reasons why I love you.” 

“_ Stop saying that. _” Masara lifted her eyes, pleading to Kokoro. “If you know so much about me, if you know yourself so well for a teenager, then tell me why this broken doll of a girl is worth all the trouble.” 

Kokoro reacted, “Why do _ you _feel this way, Masa-chan?” 

“I… don’t understand.” 

Of course she didn’t, Kokoro realized. “I mean, why do you feel driven to ‘save me’ from yourself? Why do you always take the chance to put yourself down when it comes to your emotions? Why is it that, because of this, you feel unworthy of any kindness from even your best friend?” 

“Masa-chan… why do you hate yourself?” 

She tilted her head, unreadable otherwise. “I… hate myself?” 

“You might not directly, but I feel a lot of resentment toward the flaws you can’t help. Your actions scream it, the punishments because of them.” Kokoro swallowed. “It’s really sad, Masa-chan. You’re such a good person, and caring—” 

“_ No. _ No, I’m not. I… can’t confirm nor deny your hypothesis, though, for I don’t know how I feel about myself. I simply am who I am, hindrances and all.” 

“See, that’s the thing. You call them hindrances. You act this way because, well, you said it yourself, again and again: you don’t want me to be on the receiving end of your issues, the potential pain I’d feel if you slipped up.” 

“I primarily feel this way because my persona pushes others away,” Masara clarified. “Sooner or later, they grow sick of me. Yet you outlasted them, and you seem to have no intention of giving up on me. I can’t tell if it’s because the rest of them had sense or if you don’t.” 

This poor, poor girl. 

It’s no wonder she feels what she does and upholds it as a fact of life, a quality of her character chiseled in stone. With a history like that, anyone would think it’s solely because of them and not the company they kept. 

Kokoro wanted to hunt down those jerks and give them a piece of her mind; to be so judgemental of someone they didn’t bother to know, it was understandable and woeful to the fullest. But she also, at last, comprehended Masara’s confusion—seldom few possessed the capacity to care, the heart and patience, that Kokoro had demonstrated. It wasn’t borne of a lack of sense, though Masara wouldn’t understand and, honestly, neither did Kokoro. 

She simply didn’t write off Masara the same way those girls had, simple as that. 

She couldn’t. 

Not after the first impression of Masara she’d gotten—a strong, silent shoulder to cry on, telling her what she needed to hear at a dark moment in her life. After hearing the truth from Mitama, about magical girls, Kokoro never forgot that she might have become a Witch had Masara not crossed her path. 

So long as they were alive, they would be together. She decided this in her heart that day—Kokoro would be that shoulder for Masara, any time. For that platinum kindness Kokoro had never received so selflessly from anyone else, she wouldn’t doubt the kind girl Masara truly was.

“Masa-chan?” Now was the time to pay her back. 

“Kokoro.” Her eyes kept to the ground. 

“I’m… going to suggest something of a game for us,” she decided. “A new one.” Masara rose her gaze along with a brow. “I’ll describe the way I felt during a specific time, and I’ll do my best to contextualize it with my desires at the time, and who I am as a person. You don’t have to participate, but I think it will really help you out if you follow my lead. We’ll take turns. Sound good?” 

Masara just looked stricken. 

“Sound good, Masara?” 

“Y-yes. I don’t have a problem with that. I mean—,” she caught herself, choked a little on her words. “No, nevermind. Proceed.” 

Kokoro saw what she was doing, and she couldn’t help but smirk. “Freely speaking your mind is another thing about you I love. Although thanks, Masa-chan, for trying to be considerate of my opinion and needs right now. But you don’t have to force yourself to play along if you have reservations about it, as I said. This is all to help you understand.” 

Masara’s stare ping-ponged to and fro, everywhere but Kokoro. “I must warn you, this will likely wind up being pointless.”

“Nah, it won’t.” Kokoro giggled as Masara suddenly lost her shame and looked her in the eye, brow cocked, mouth open to argue. “At the very least, you’ll finally understand why I feel the way I do, and do the things I do.” 

“That’s what I mean, and my point still stands… Kokoro,” she added softly, her way of injecting warmth and genuinity, clearly. “I’ve spoken with dozens of individuals, trying to understand your love… and Iroha was the closest, but she only made me want to save you more.” 

“It’s like you told me before, though: she’s not you, and her experience can only take you so far. Masa-chan, understanding my feelings? The only one who could give you a concrete answer is standing right in front of you.” 

Masara gazed upon her, truly stupefied, before crossing her arms in a tight embrace. “Why do I feel so ridiculous?” she muttered, cheeks aglow. 

Snorting, Kokoro lightly chopped her on the forehead. “‘Cuz ya are, dummy.” 

Masara opened her eyes, still red in the cheeks, making the whole of her with those hunched shoulders look uncharacteristically bashful. 

_ So adorable, _Kokoro reacted, her chest twisting tight as though her heart was being juiced. Did Masara feel this, too? Ever? The thought made it hurt more, or perhaps the uncertainty took her feelings and mutated it into anxiety. 

_ Anxiety… Yeah, it’s been so long since I felt that around Masa-chan, but that’s definitely how it started out. _Kokoro breathed deep, collecting herself and her thoughts. She opened her mouth. 

And Masara spoke first: “When I saw you on the brink of death at the hands of that murderer…” She was hard searching the space between her feet, evidently trying to relive that day—normally she never bothered to commit the past to memory.

Normally, anyway. 

“When I realized what was about to happen… I screamed for you to run,” she remembered, as did Kokoro. “I screamed inside and out as my body moved toward the alley. At the time I wasn’t thinking, and I can hardly remember what it is I felt. Just… pain.” She touched her heart. “A terrible, awful ache that I’ve felt constantly in some form or another since then. But none were as potent, or as similar, as it was yesterday. It felt impossible to breathe, and all I could think about was you being gone from me forever. I felt like you’d died as punishment for my mistakes, and whatever that was had stabbed me again and again. Or, that’s how I imagine impalement feels. I know it’s not genuine physical agony, but I had as much control over the sentiment as I did my stream of thoughts: denial, faced with facts, hoping that it wasn’t real, even… I never, ever want to feel that unpleasant thing again. That’s another reason, a selfish reason, as to why I’m trying to separate us.” 

Grasping her tie, her gaze lifted, meeting Kokoro’s likely-stupid stare. 

Widening slightly, Masara’s eyes returned to her feet. “Sorry. You’ve been explaining yourself and your feelings so fearlessly, disregarding the notion that I might not understand.” Kokoro’s heartbeat slammed once, twice—again and again as she lifted Masara by the chin, to see the look in her eyes and so she would find no judgement in turn. “I wanted to do _ something _right by you.” Her eyes were full of that pain, that confusion, that self-pitying hatred. “However minor a thing.” She cupped Kokoro’s forearm, not breaking her stare.. 

“I felt this,” Masara continued, searching Kokoro’s face, “in the weeks we first met. When I took a hit, I felt similarly driven to save you despite insisting a distance between us. I felt this same exact tension, then. Albeit much weaker.”

Silence. She was finished. “Well,” Kokoro rasped, then cleared her throat of emotion, “that’s easy enough to understand: you didn’t want to lose me.” 

Masara swallowed, bobbed her head. “Yes. I, too, believe that I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose the only person to insist her friendship upon me. The thought of your death made me… hollow. Like yesterday, when my guts were out in front of me, but all I felt was that emptiness towards your unmoving body.” Her eyes shone with so much—fear, concern, confusion, love. Absolutely love—all of it this girl felt as well as any other girl; she just never understood, never felt much of it until Kokoro incited such things. 

She moved from Masara’s chin to cupping her face, like Mom would to comfort. “I think it’s safe to call that sadness.” Kokoro had to keep herself steady; this cheek was so dang warm that it was Heaven in her palm. “You were sad at the thought of losing me. Acting on that pain is your brain’s effort to avoid feeling it.” 

Brows knitting, squeezing the fabric of Kokoro’s sleeve, Masara murmured, “Then I believe I’ve been sad for a long time. Before we even met.” 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why after all she heard last night. “Masa-chan,” Kokoro gasped wetly. “You deserve to be loved.” 

“Are you in sadness-induced pain? Why?” She squeezed Kokoro’s elbow, the absolute cutest girl. 

“Because I care about you,” said Kokoro, stroking a thumb beneath Masara’s eye, “and because I love you. It makes me want to keep you from feeling that pain ever again. Even if such a thing is impossible,” she added as Masara was ready to object, “I feel driven to protect you just as you had for me. It’s the same exact feeling, Masa-chan. Nothing more to it.” 

“So… you’re saying that my sadness feels, to you, like how a knife in heart would?” 

Kokoro smiled. “Yeah, it does.” 

“Like a Witch tore out your entrails?” 

She giggled. “More like one had just whammied me in the womb.” 

“And…” Masara trailed off, searching the ground, “like you’ve felt this all week, too.” 

“Of course,” Kokoro breathed, heart aloft. _ I can’t believe we’re talking about this, _ like _ this, but we are. _It was like a dream. “I’ve felt like this was all my fault for just blurting out my feelings.” 

Masara looked to her, gently appalled. “If you hadn’t, I would still be coasting along, not understanding even this much. And besides,” she said, caressing Kokoro’s hand upon her cheek, “if you feel some responsibility for all this, it’s only fair I claim most of it. I am, and always have been, quite ridiculous, as you say.” 

“Masa-chan!” Kokoro giggled. The swarming butterflies erupted in a frenzy, they couldn’t help it. 

“But some things seem harder to change: I do apologize for interrupting you again with such a pointless tange’_ mmf. _” 

She smelled faintly of cool autumn air with a touch of sweetness, like berry. As she always had.

“You were afraid,” Kokoro breathed, reapplying her emotions to Masara’s lips. “All those times you were terrified of losing me, silly.” 

And she stood there, frozen, her breath inhaling and exhaling quickly. Brokenly. As she always had inside, if not out. 

Kokoro said into her mouth, “Don’t ever call these feelings ‘pointless’ again.” 

Masara’s lips quivered, and a tiny noise passed into Kokoro’s as she tilted her head the other way, pressed harder—loving Masara to pieces as she always had, and the girl herself never had. 

_ Wait, I’m… _ Masara’s kiss closed around Kokoro’s bottom one, returning it with feather-light force. _ I’m kissing her? We’re k-kissing!? _Inhaling through her nose, she yanked away, parting from Masara with a pop. 

The sudden, alien stimulation had knocked her out, or brought Masara close to it—panting, clutching onto the gate behind her to remain upright. Her entire face was flushed, eyes wrenched shut. 

“I-I’m sorry for that…” It felt wrong to be close to her now. Stepping back, she saw Masara’s long, pale legs bent inward, trembling. “I was so caught up in the moment that my body moved on its own and-and...”

This was all wrong. This was so messed up and Kokoro just went and did that because Masara had done something so sweet, and cute, and endearing, and in the same vein as she had all week: for the sake of Kokoro. 

Who wouldn’t wanna kiss such an amazing girl? 

“I…” How could she possibly say something to defend herself? “I’m sorry, Masa-chan. That was completely inappropriate.” 

Masara squinted at the blue sky, her lips glistening, breast heaving. “What is this?” she breathed. “I… I feel like my brain is flying through the air.” 

She didn’t seem mad. Or embarrassed. She was just… feeling, all while still trying to maintain Kokoro’s flimsy little game. 

Might as well take responsibility for this new sensation. “M-me, too.” Kokoro gulped her shyness. “Your heart is racing, right? You feel like it’s hard to breathe?” 

“Y-yeah.” Masara’s eyes widened, but the sky above was inconspicuous. “I do, I feel that too. And my head is heavy, yet light at the same time. It’s… none of this is unpleasant, though.” 

Kokoro tried to find words that would satisfy while struggling to accept Masara’s blatant disregard for the breaching of her personal bubble. Of course, she wouldn’t be okay if just anyone did that, but still. Her blunt reactions had never _ not _been a surprise. 

“My face is warm,” Masara went on. “And my lips are tingling still. Is this why couples in movies like kissing each other so much? To chase this feeling?” 

“That’s, um, I guess you could call it a… a ‘lover’s high?’” Kokoro answered lamely. She aired out her collar. “Something about the dopamine in your brain is being released, cuz your lips have a ton of sensitive nerves in them. Kissing like that, uh…” Kokoro dabbed her brow with her sleeve. “It’s meant to feel good, I guess.” 

She _ ‘guessed?’ _Seriously?

Masara emerged from the fog, still flushed in the face. “So there’s no emotional component?” 

Kokoro had to clap herself across the eyes. “No, yeah, there is, there is,” she sighed. “I’m just… I guess you could say talking so casually about our feelings is making me feel that same high, and it made me… attack you like that.” 

“That wasn’t an attack, though. It felt good.” 

Kokoro processed this, Masara’s forwardness—a precious quirk as always—and snickered. Who was she to argue? 

_ Wait… _ She realized, _ Masara really only got bad after she ‘attacked’ me first. _ “I… liked it when you did that to me too.” She still felt Masara’s dagger glide gently through her body suit, the cool air tickling her stomach, her… her cleavage. “I _ really _liked it.” She kept to herself the shameful act that followed alone in her bedroom the same evening. “You know this by now, but I almost couldn’t believe you were making such advances. I thought I was dreaming for a moment.” 

Masara seemed far from reassured. “I would argue against your assessment, that I did indeed assault you, but—” 

“But you’d be disregarding how I felt again.” 

A shake of the head. “Kokoro… I wasn’t trying to pursue pleasure. Merely it was to sate my curiosity; my goal was understanding the kind of love you had for me, to see if it was romantic.” 

_ Ah. That explains… pretty much everything. _No wonder she felt so monstrous. “You ran away with tears in your eyes, Masa-chan.” That was the thing which cropped up the most these last several days. “Like you suddenly realized what you were doing.” 

“I was manipulating your emotions.” Masara crouched down, plucked her soul gem laying by her feet. “A newfound habit of mine,” she observed, a blue flash returning her gem into a silver ring around the finger. 

“Yeah, that was pretty bad, what you did,” Kokoro confessed. “And it hurt like hell, too, the way you ran.” And if she heard the truth right after it had happened, Kokoro probably would have slapped her. “But at the very least, it means you feel something passionate for me beyond a shadow of a doubt. Everything you’ve done since then and before that was brought on by those feelings. If _ that _doesn’t mean you care about me, well… well, it just can’t mean anything else! The proof is in the pudding! Your actions speak for themselves!”

“But my intentions that day were so selfish—”

“Everybody’s a little bit selfish, Masa-chan. Even me! What matters is how you felt after, and that drive to protect that came from it is no different from mine!” 

“Kokoro, you want to protect me? From what?” 

She took Masara’s hands, limp and warm, held them in front of her. “From yourself,” Kokoro realized in that moment. “I want to make it so you never feel bad for being who you are again.” 

Masara searched her face, searched it with big, glossy eyes. 

She was moved. She might not realize it for herself, but that had struck a chord for sure. Perhaps, hopefully, the same Kokoro herself had felt the day they met. 

She breathed deep, donning her best, most reassuring, most loving smile. “I promise, Masa-chan, that even if you keep trying to push me away, even if you make stupid decisions… even if you do things which unintentionally hurt me, I’ll keep on standing tall and coming right back to tell you that it’s okay. I’ll scold you, of course, but I’m not gonna leave over something so petty. Even if that’ll be easier, I love you too damn much to wanna take the easy way out.” 

“K-K-Ko—” Her lips trembled, her jaw shook, Masara’s face was an unsightly red and tears were the only thing sitting in her eyes. “Wha-what’s, ha-happening, to m-me?” she gasped. 

Kokoro’s cheeks hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her heart hurt. Yet everything felt lighter than air, her words even more so. “Love isn’t meant to be easy, Masa-chan. Not the meaningful kind, anyway. It’s time and work, but it’s worth it if you struggle for the sake of the one you love. My parents didn’t want to do that much work, they didn’t think it was worth it, but I’ll be damned if I throw in the towel and wind up regretting it forever. I’ll give up the day I feel it isn’t worth it anymore, which—unlucky for you—isn’t gonna happen.” Kokoro smirked the best she could with sobs now trying to burst out mid-sentence. “M’made of pretty sturdy stuff, after all.” 

Masara kept her eyes pried open, on Kokoro, choking and gasping on the effort to keep it all in. She looked angry as a result. It looked stupid. It was adorable. 

No one else would ever look at Kokoro in all the ways she had this past week alone. 

“I love you, Kagami Masara. If you don’t understand my feelings yet, the glue that adheres me to your side… it’s just love. That’s what mine is, and that’s what yours is, too.” 

Finally a cry erupted out of her, a short pained thing hunching her over. Masara’s shoulders throbbed with her breathing. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, waveringly in the effort to sound firm. “I don’t know—what’s—happening-to-me! I feel light and in pain and dizzy and terrified, and-and-and my face feels like it’s on fire and tears are coming and they won’t stop and I don’t understand it at all and—” 

“Shh, Masa-chan, shh.” Kokoro stroked her hair. “That’s enough for now. We got the rest of our days to work through this together.” 

“I didn’t even let you work out your emotions.” Masara grasped Kokoro’s sleeves, squeezed them so tight the fabric pinched her biceps. “You’re in pain deep down, too. Right, Kokoro?” 

She stroked Masara’s back, murmuring, “One day at a time. One day at a time.” 

___________________________________________________________________________

“Heyyy, Masa-chan!” 

=Masara pivoted on the spot, recognizing that squeal. She was happy to see her friend, and smiled to show this. “Rika. Hello.” 

“You’re on your way home from work?” The girl was skipping to a stop, a school bag slung behind her. She sniffed. “Yep. Chlorine. How are the little tykes?” 

“Actually, I requested today off. But the class is doing well. I still swam for pleasure, however.” A half-lie, it was more to calm the tightness—the anxiety—within her. Something mundane and familiar helped with that whenever she couldn’t discuss the rare oddity with Kokoro. “Are you and Ren doing well?” 

“Oh, yeah! She’s so easy to live with and she doesn’t care about my mess, so long as it’s kept in our room.” 

Masara nodded. She had a similar agreement with Kokoro. 

“So,” Rika drawled, pointing with flourish, “is that little bag you’re holding for the lucky lady? Looks to me like a fancy bauble from Passione’s. Real quality stuff from that place! I’ve bought from there tons of times. In fact, it’s from there Ren-chan got me _ this _little beauty.” She held up a hand, one finger stacked with a silver ring adorned with a ruby-like gem, followed by a gold band emblazoned with a blue diamond. “Custom-made,” she explained, admiring its sparkle, matching it with her grin. “Ren-chan went out of her way to make a big thing out of proposing,” she sighed. 

Masara wasn’t surprised they went this far, but it was pleasing to see the two of them making progress. “When is the wedding?” 

“Not for a few more years, when we graduate college. But we’re committed.” Rika held her bag by her side. “It’s good seeing you, Masa-chan, but I gotta rush home. Tonight’s my turn to make din-din.” 

Masara bowed her head, fighting the urge to continue the conversation. “Be seeing you.” 

They parted with that. The thought of Ren and Rika, still together after so long, rendered the way home an easier road to travel. Masara recognized this sentiment, the lightness in her breast, from a fateful day years ago. 

It was hope. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Classical piano was trilling throughout the apartment to the drumming of knife-on-wood, and a crackling pan of something greasy. Masara sniffed the air as she shut the door behind her: strong with garlic and green foods, and the earthy huskiness of duck. 

Yep. It was her favorite stir fry—right down to the fine detail of being made by Kokoro. 

Kokoro… her loving girlfriend, her loyal best friend… kept her back on Masara, immersed in the dicing of red peppers and music from her phone. Long shed of her work clothes, Kokoro had changed into a form-fitting pink tee and sweatpants that emphasized the width of her hips, the swell of her bottom. 

Masara was beginning to linger on such details more and more. She shook her head out of it, took the care to silently remove her present from its bag, its box. 

She padded up behind Kokoro, both hands holding the gift out before her, waiting. As soon as Kokoro was done dicing, Masara let go of one end and swiftly looped it around her front. Kokoro peeped, stiffening as Masara locked its clasp around the smooth, somewhat hairy back of her neck. 

“Happy anniversary, Koko-chan,” Masara breathed into her hair before pressing her lips within it. It always smelled so strongly of Kokoro—of light sweat and passion fruit. “I love you.” 

Kokoro giggled, tilting her head to the ceiling in reaction to the sensation. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” she sighed, taking Masara’s hands and locking them around her stomach. She wanted a hug, so Masara squeezed her tight. “Oh, this is beautiful,” she cried, inspecting the sapphire-peridot yin and yang. “Masa-chan, I love you, too,” she felt the need to add. Kokoro massaged her hands. “Classes good today?” 

“They’re classes, they’re neither good nor bad.” 

“But were they bearable?” 

On a normal day, she’d know the answer to that question. “You made it hard to focus,” Masara admitted, kissing her hair again. 

Kokoro hummed, tilting her head aside, her hair loops following. “I didn’t do anything,” she teased. 

“You exist. That’s problematic enough.” 

Kokoro giggled, and Masara tingled at having made such a sweet sound. But it started to become… standard. Commonplace. More and more, she found herself wanting to make other noises come out of Kokoro. Just the thought of it… Masara realized she started rubbing her thighs together. 

“Koko-chan?” 

She answered by taking Masara’s hands and moving them to her chest. “What’s up?” Her smirk was audible. “You finally made your move, I see,” Kokoro teased. 

This was routine. Kokoro clearly wanted it, she seldom hid the fact that she did. But they both agreed years ago not to engage beyond kissing until Masara was certain she felt the same. 

Even if that never happened. 

And so, rather than move her hands away, Masara squeezed hard. She got what she wanted—Kokoro gasped sharply, her hips bucking out in front of her as her head fell back, her ear brushing Masara’s cheek. 

“M-Masa-chan,” she groaned, composing herself as she grabbed her by the wrists, “don’t make the same mistake you did last year, I was just kidding. You really don’t have to do anything just because it’s our anniversary. Or Christmas. Or my birthday.”

She replied planting a long, hard kiss on Kokoro’s cheek. Her girlfriend hummed, smiling drunkenly as she turned her face to Masara, who straightened them both and wrapped her arms completely around Kokoro’s bust. As one, they locked lips. 

“I want you now,” Masara whispered as soon as they broke away. 

“_What?_” 

“I want you.” Kokoro shivered in her arms, her face slackened wide. “I thought about it a long time. I spoke with Mitama, Rena and Kaede—” 

“Went on a little spiritual journey, didn’cha?” 

Masara grunted. “And I realized how pleasing it would be to make you feel good.” 

A whine, Kokoro crossing her arms atop Masara’s. “Here I thought you finally found me attractive.” 

“But you are, objectively speaking.” 

“Quit being so adorable already!” Kokoro turned, pouting, her completely ruddy face closing the distance—hard. Very hard. Kokoro kissed her again and again, as if devouring her lips. Electricity and dampness shocked Masara all the way to her brain. “And,” Kokoro murmured into her mouth, “you’re a big jerk for groping me before dinner’s even done. How’m I supposed to just eat and make light conversation knowing what’s gonna happen later?” 

Masara wasn’t sure. Normal conversation, trying to sound human, was an egregious talk of her own. But playful banter? Kokoro never failed to laugh with delight, but anyone who bore witness often mocked Masara for resembling an alien pretending to be human. Here and now, she cared enough not to want to just say ‘deal with it until then,’ this was their anniversary after all, plus their respective first times. Plus… she was afraid of ruining it by being too aggressive, or not tending to Kokoro well enough.

She decided, “You’ll have to suffer in silence like I did today.” It was mostly true, apart from the reason behind her suffering. It wasn’t quite with excitement, like Kokoro’s was going to be. 

The truth of her suffering had begun a low, evil chuckle. “Just you wait, Masa-chan. Just you wait!” growled Kokoro, stroking her knuckles with feather-light touches. “You’ve never touched yourself, ever, and ya don’t let me.” 

“I never said you couldn’t. That was your own restriction.” 

“Splitting hairs. My point is, you got a virgin’s body through and through, and _ no idea _how disappointed you'll be once you fail your mission.” 

This dirty side was so seldom shown. It was alien, but not in a frightening way. Masara recognized her feelings, at least; the throbbing within as her heart skipping a beat. It meant that she loved Kokoro. This teasing was juvenile, however. Especially coming from someone so normally mature. “I highly doubt you will have much control over me. You may appeal to me physically, but only because your apparent beauty correlates with my feelings for you.” 

“Blah, blah, blah. You say that now, but I cracked your emotional code a couple years ago: you feel just like any other person.” She spoke like it was some grand reveal back then, but continued playfully, “The human body’s simple, though. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you’ll feel _ something _like any normal girl. Remember how you came when I suddenly kissed you that first time?" 

Masara rolled her eyes. “That was different. A lot was going on in my heart at the time. And I’m sure your novels and programs exaggerate sexual encounters for dramatic effect.” 

“Every denial is just making me wanna try harder. You must know that, right?” 

Rather than entertain this inanity a moment longer, Masara untangled herself from Kokoro’s reverse-embrace. “I’m going to wash the chlorine out of my hair. Do you need help with anything before I go?” 

Kokoro smiled, waved her off. “This is my gift to you. The first of many, now,” she added with a wink. 

Masara mocked with a wave-off in turn. “I’m starting to regret letting my anxiety tell you this upon walking through the door. My reserved and dainty Koko-chan is far more tolerable. I wonder if I killed her today?” 

Kokoro scoffed, plucking up and beaning Masara with a pepper dicing. She dodged, spinning for the hall to make her way to their bedroom. 

“Uh, Masa-chan!” came a cry before she could take a second step. 

Masara looked back, bracing herself for more jocular comments. She found gentle eyes and a warm smile waiting instead, the kind that Kokoro always had around her. The kind that never failed to melt Masara’s heart. The kind she first made by accident the day this random magical girl cried to her, a stranger, about her family problems. What Masara had said that day aroused a special smile meant only for the one named Kagami. 

It was a smile of love. 

In a voice full of it, Kokoro told her, “Happy two-year anniversary, Masa-chan. Let’s have another year growing up together.” 

Masara smiled back, put her hand on the wall as she rounded the corner. She was trying to run. “I hope…” She pushed away the tightness in her breast. “I hope we grow up for the rest of our lives, then.” 

Kokoro grinned, red in the face. “Look at you, suddenly stating the obvious!” 


End file.
